


Last 30 Days

by ShanaRHager



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Conspiracy, Countdown, Downer ending for Luigi, Drama, Friendship Failure, Gen, How we got to patch 1.1.1, It's nerf or nothing, Luigi Fanservice, Origin Story, Project Nerf, action girls, or maybe not, sore losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-06-08 05:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 126,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15236820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaRHager/pseuds/ShanaRHager
Summary: Three brothers.  Thirty days.  One goal.  Many players.  Bear witness to the shocking story of patch 1.1.1 and it's 30 day journey from the brains of a motley crew to the lap of the Hand of Creation himself.  In September 2015, it was nerf or nothing.  Rated T for alcohol use, censored language and sequences of mild violence and action.





	1. Prologue: Powder Keg

              _In his room, he sat there sulking, as he had been for the past hour or so.  A chance at a marvelous victory, stripped by that stupid, green clad bean pole!  He dreamed of this and looked forward to this—him creaming the puny idiot until he couldn’t take anymore—until he was sniffling and whimpering and sobbing and crying out for his mercy—but he just_ had _to take it from him with that godforsaken ground pound!  Things were going just as he’d planned, and he was owning the guy with blow after blow until he pulled his secret weapon out of his sleeve—a grab, a butt slam, and then boom.  That stupid man in green got his revenge, so to speak, as he executed combos until he ran out of breath, only for him to re-grab and start over.  And again and again and again, trying to escape, to DI—only to be read and set upon even harsher—that plumber had a bit of a grudge against him, and who could blame him?  The only escape from this Hell came when Xander, the announcer, mercifully called “Time”._

_“Scrawny little squirt!” grumbled the salty loser, taking another gulp of his Red Bull energy drink.  “Why did I have to lose to you—a coward, of all people?”_

_D—n that plumber.  And d—n Master Hand for inviting him here!  Later that night, the loser was going to hit the bars and get—er—Super Smashed—as the images of his thrashing at the hands of the mustachioed man in green continued to drum across his mindscape._

**1.1.1**

_“NOOOOOOO!  God—mit!” Salty scrub number two (or twenty-two, or two-hundred, or whenever you stopped counting) screamed in his head as_ he _reached out and grasped him in a firm hold, his blue eyes twinkling with energy and exertion.  “Not again, God, please!”_

_His prayer wasn’t answered, as he was slammed down with massive force, butt-stomped and subjected to the umpteenth combo of the current match.  His mind was scrambled.  How could he escape?  DI towards him?  Read like a book!  DI away?  Tech-chased!  Air-dodge?  Also read!  Tech with an aerial?  Read so hard!  He tried every defense option in the book, but this guy knew how to read!  Could anyone stop this fighting machine?_

_Not really._

_After everything was said and done and the man in green clinched the victory while being humble about it, as always, the loser stomped to his room, slammed the door and sat down on his bed.  He was frustrated and didn’t know what to do.  The back of his mind admonished him to get some practice, but he ignored it.  Wouldn’t it be easier to just fume and rage over it?  Fine!  Fuming and raging it is!_

_“Enough is enough!” he growled, kicking over a chair.  “I have had it with that freaking plumber and his freaking down throw!”_

**1.1.1**

              _“[_ Bleep _] this, I’m on freaking stream with my freaking hands up!  You freaking stupid [_ bleep _]!” seethed yet another recipient of a nasty defeat at the hands of a certain man in green, nursing an ice pack on his forehead.  “This stupid, freaking, justice, self-righteous freaking [_ bleep _]_ , _Luigi, is doing this [_ bleep _]!  You freaking [_ bleep _]!  I swear to God, once I get my hands on you…”_

 _He ranted on and on until a thought struck him.  “Okay, you know what?  Everyone, type in the chat, ‘Luigi is a stupid [_ bleep _]’.  Just type in the chat, ‘Luigi is a stupid [_ bleep _]’.  [_ Bleep _] it.”_

**1.1.1**

              _Match after match, they wouldn’t let go of the saltiness.  Their friends coddled them and encouraged them to get some practice, but they didn’t need any practice.  They were the best, for [_ bleep _]’s sake!  It was that man in green’s fault, not theirs, that they were losing so badly!  Him and that godforsaken down throw!  And when they connected via social media, they got to talking.  Perhaps if they charmed the powers-that-be—manipulated a few “hands”, as it were (pun intended)—perhaps something could be done about that pesky down throw of his._

_This is the story of such a “something”._

_The story of the last 30 days leading to patch 1.1.1._


	2. T Minus 30 Days

              With an emphatic grunt, Luigi delivered a sharp karate chop on the opponent reeling from his butt slam.  Usually, he could follow the opponent with several more.  But he was prepared for the times when that wasn’t the case.

              He was aware of trickles of applause from the spectators and hums of approval.  He was also aware of said opponent trying to DI away from him and back to safety.  Muscle memory snapped into action as he punished with a Cyclone attack, and then re-grabbed and started the process over again.  He liked to mix up his aerial games so opponents wouldn’t catch onto him.  They’d never know what was coming after that butt slam.  He’d condition them to anticipate a f-air string and hit them with something else.  A u-air or a d-air maybe.  Or one of his special moves.  The combo options from his down throw were nigh endless, but he always made sure to practice those combos.  Practice and anticipate his opponent’s reaction.  They had sneaky ways of getting past his combos, and Luigi made it his mission to find ways to punish them all.

              He let his f-air chain into itself before pulling a d-air spike and using his jabs and strong attacks to get a ground combo going.  Once he was sure he was anchored in neutral, he started tossing in his powerful Smash attacks.  Then, he _really_ went at his opponent, switching his strategy every so often to accommodate hard reads.  Surprisingly, he still had enough breath in him after that for a re-grab and another down throw to polish off a new combo.

              It was a heated battle so far, and the opponent was on their last stock.  Luigi, however, had only lost one.  However, he gave that fact little regard.  Tables could turn at any moment.  He had to remind himself to focus on the battle and the battle only.  Thinking about the stock advantage could cause slip-ups brought on by overconfidence.  He was like the Greek goddess Athena, all about strategy and defensive techniques.  Even as his attacks landed, he always weighed potential follow-ups in his mind.  Would he be too breathless for another combo?  Would the opponent try to punish, to tech or to read?  Was his opponent trying to bait him?  Based on his opponent’s performance in other battles, how did they condition other opponents?  What about his own energy and health?  Sure, there was also the need to get out whatever stress and aggression clinging to him, but that was secondary to his opponent’s m.o. and potential stage hazards.  Here, they were fighting on an Omega stage, so hazards wouldn’t be an issue.  The opponent, however, would.

              Luigi’s foe was red in the face, looking flustered as they tried to counteract the plumber’s aggressive approach and failed.  He ignored the opposition’s obvious frustration, concentrating hard on what he needed to do and what he needed to watch out for.  Sweat streamed down his face, seeped into his mouth and soaked his clothes.  His breath was coming out in bursts; he would have to take another break soon.  Just sneak a few more hits in—there we go!

              The man in green dodged before his foe could take advantage of his impending breathlessness, and then shot a few fireballs to stun them, breathing deeply.  He fixed his eyes on the one standing across from him.  The opponent glared at him with righteous fury, while Luigi kept his face neutral and held eye contact.  Sometimes to unnerve the opponents, but mostly to convey respect.  No matter how he felt about them personally, he always showed them respect, even as they sneered at him, called him names and spieled about how easy defeating him would be.  But as soon as Luigi got ahold of them with his combos, they all threw hissy fits.  Friends and acquaintances either didn’t seem to mind or managed to hold the saltiness at bay.  But the saltiness had become more frequent in recent months.

              Luigi played defensively, feeling that basic urge kicking in, the temptation to just run over and lay into him with his gloved fists.  There was no question that this opponent was one of those feeling nothing but contempt toward them.  Well, Luigi wasn’t so hot about them, either, but he was still going to abide by battlefield decorum.  He continued flicking out fireballs, calm approaching him in two phases.  In the first phase, his breathing returned to a somewhat manageable pace, even if it was still difficult to breathe through his nose.  In the second phase, the fire in his veins cooled, the epinephrine no longer threatening to swamp him.  Though his blood still pumped, the brief burst of fury and/or animosity dulled.  He allowed some of the ice to melt from his face and a disarming smile to creep upon his lips.  His opponent responded to the smile by spitting all sorts of invective at him.  Each offensive phrase flickered across Luigi’s angular, expressive face, still maintaining composure and rational thought.  He’d save the fire for the Sandbags in the Training Area.

              Just as Luigi guessed, his opponent gave into emotions and charged blindly.  They always charged blindly at him when things weren’t going their way.  Should he dodge?  Should he shield?  Should he roll?  Should he jump?

              Or should he grab?

              Ok.  Grab it is.

              And pummel.  And down throw.  And f-air, f-air, f-air.  And u-air, u-air, u-air.  And d-air.  And Cyclone.  And—

              Pull tricks so they can’t DI.  Now use a Misfire.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Razzle ’em.  Dazzle ’em.

              Each hit was a measured beat, each jump, parry or dodge a calculation.  Each attack, every glint in his eyes was a statement.  Catharsis at its finest.  Each lick of lips or deep breath was a quick reset.  He couldn’t let his breaths or his thoughts run away.  That would only bring disaster—

              Slivers of cheers sprinkled around the two as they fought, Luigi acknowledging them while never taking his eyes or his attention off the fighter before him.  But the cheers were like rain on his hot skin, for there was once a time when the audience used to boo him.  They’d thrown things at him, called him trash and said that he sucked—all because of some list on a plain piece of paper.  But he’d responded to that crap the way he currently responded to the cheering—by giving his all.

              He took a deep breath and re-grabbed his opponent as they tried to shield.

              And started again.

              He laid off only when his lungs started to ache.  Kept his foe busy with quick, long-ranged attacks.  Checked how much damage both had sustained.  Tuned out the saltiness being spewed at him.  Waited for the charge.  And then grabbed for the kill combo.  His grand finale.

              GAME!

              “This game’s winner is—Luigi!”

**1.1.1**

              How unsurprising that the vanquished opponent refused the handshake Luigi proffered.  They just glared at him and stormed off, muttering indignant phrases.  It wasn’t like Luigi was gloating about his win.  He wasn’t like that; he never was, and never will be.  He was just trying to be nice.

              Why couldn’t all his opponents be like his best friends, or like his elder brother, who shook his hand or hugged it out with him to reassure him that they were okay with the loss?  He may have gotten slightly upset over losing, especially in the early years, but at least he remembered to be a good sportsman.  Why was losing to him such a big deal?

              Luigi tried not to think about it because it made him see red.  Instead, he went about his post-match routine—a long, refreshing shower, a change of clothes and quality time with friends and loved ones old and new.  Accepting praises over the win with a blush before discussing other interesting happenings.  There would be card games, board games or video games for them to play—or they’d crowd around the TV to watch a popular show or an on-demand movie.

              A little later, the man in green would wander through the halls of the Smash Mansion, whistling or humming a tune, until he came upon what he was looking for—Master Hand’s office.  Or at least, the doorway to Master Hand’s office.  Quietly, Luigi pressed his ear against the door and listened to his opponent ranting to the Hand of Creation about his down throw combos.  He couldn’t stop the smile etching onto his face as opponents alike chose to whine, complain and fulminate rather than buckle down and practice.  He was sometimes tempted to sneak inside and lick the tears off the complainant’s face as they wailed to Master Hand.  But—he wasn’t like that.  He just settled with eavesdropping on the salty complainants cursing him to high Heaven over his down throw and the combos it engendered.

              “I shouldn’t have lost to him!  He’s Player Two, God—mit!”

              “I can’t believe a coward whipped my [ _bleep_ ]!  Now everyone’s gonna laugh at me!”

              “Why did _he_ win, and not me?  He’s supposed to be a wimp and a coward!”

              “I f-ing hate that plumber!  _I_ was supposed to have the victory!  Me, me, ME!”

              “I’m sick and tired of those stupid f-ing combos owning me day after day!”

              “Keep that green man of yours in check, or I swear _I_ will!”

              “Luigi’s supposed to be the loser!  The _loser_!  Who does he think he is, stealing the win from me?!”

              Eventually, Master Hand would show all of them the door, and Luigi would quietly slip away, either to his room or to the nearest lounge, where he’d kill time until his next match.  Winning some, losing some.  Listening to the losers blow their tops over losing to a “weakling” and trying his hardest not to let their stinging words get to him.  Enduring some gloating and trash-talking from victors who looked down on him, but some of the victors won gracefully, congratulating him and sincerely wishing him better luck next time.

              Evening fell.  The day’s matches were over.  The Smashers ate dinner in the cafeteria and then retired to their rooms.  To rest.  To sleep.  To recover and prepare for another day.

              But as Luigi slept, a few shady Smashers were wide awake, angrily and heatedly discussing their losses to him among themselves and perfecting a foolproof way to have his combo game—taken care of.

              They’d had it with this a-hole trouncing them.  They needed to remind him of his place as Player Two.  They wanted nothing more than to hit Luigi where it hurt the most.  Taking his advantageous matchup in Smash from him seemed the best way to hurt him.

              And so, in a surreptitious meeting hosted by three scheming brothers named Bennigan, Project Nerf was born—

 

             

             


	3. T Minus 29 Days

              Aggressive, almost angry and sharp whistling breaths filled the Mushroom Kingdom U stage, the antithesis to the cheerful music playing over the sound system.  Carried by the laws of physics, these breaths drifted over to the audience section of the arena, which was filled to capacity.  A strange sight indeed, judging from one of the fighters in this match.

              There were three big sections of the arena for the spectators, the leftmost section, the middle section and the rightmost section.  In the middle seat of the first row of the middle section sat a familiar red-capped hero, a cardboard tray of concession food balanced on his lap.  His gloved hands clutched the sides of this tray tightly, as if it would anchor him to the chair.  And maybe it would, for if he were to jump excitedly out of his seat, then the food would make a mess on his red and blue getup.  Sea blue eyes were fixed on the action, and in a low, intense, voice, he’d whisper, “Yeah, yeah.  Do it, Bro.  Do it.”

              A dainty, gloved hand rested on his shoulder, calming him.  Mario “Jumpman” Mario turned and smiled gratefully at his Mushroom Princess.  She was glad in a pink gown, a jeweled crown atop a head of golden hair.  Rubbing the small of her love’s back, Peach assured him, “He’ll be alright.”

              “You should’ve seen the other guy before the match,” Mario whispered.  “He acted like he wanted to rip him to shreds.  He landed quite a few good ones, too.”

              “But Luigi still got up,” smiled Peach.  “Look at him.  He knows how to handle intimidating opponents.”

              “That’s what has me wired,” explained Mario.  “Look how many combos and setups he has.  I mean, in the beginning…”

              “I know,” said Peach.  “I know.”

              “He’s improved grandly, and a lot of people aren’t happy about that,” Mario went on.  “There’s a lot of salt going on over his combo game.  You check Miiverse lately?”

              Peach scoffed.  “As if I’d react to that stuff,” she said.

              “Wow.  Look at him,” mused Mario, taking another bite of his sandwich.  “He’s close to breathlessness, and he still has a combo going.  That’s my bro.”

              Normally, when Luigi started to sense that ache in his lungs, he’d lay off on offense for a while.  But this particular opponent was so special that he’d happily abandon customs just this once.  The opponent deserved an extra helping or two (or three or four or eighteen or forty-two or OVER NINE THOUSAND!) of his down throw combos; they’d minced no words over how eager they were to take on the man in green!  He just wished they could’ve said it nicer; perhaps he would’ve gone a tad easier on them.  Oh, well.  This was a perfect excuse to test and push the limits of his lung capacity.

              In the stands, Mario quivered with contained energy.  These were the moments when he went wild, seeing his little brother in the heat of battle and holding his own, defying what was said about him.  If Luigi was involved in a match, then Mario would cheer the loudest.  If he didn’t have food on his lap, then he’d bounce and jump up and down, cup his hands around his mouth and shout encouragement in both English and Italian.  Usher Miis would politely ask him to lower his voice, or in extreme cases, politely ask him to leave on account of distracting the fighters.  But Mario loved his brother fiercely, and he wasn’t going to let anyone dictate how he should cheer for him!

              That was why he started getting things to put in his lap.  Food, drinks, stress balls, Mushrooms, POW blocks or Stars—just something to hold so he wouldn’t be tempted to jump around so much.  He was still energetic with his cheering and had to be corrected by the Mii ushers, but as long as he remained in his seat, the audience couldn’t complain.  Mario was like their unofficial pep squad leader, encouraging his fellow audience members to join in his cheers.  Even those rooting for the opponent couldn’t help but jump in, though they chanted the opponent’s name instead of Luigi’s.

              Leaning into Peach’s touch, Mario refocused his attention on his baby brother’s fluid movements on the battlefield.  He was so enthralling to watch.  Especially when it came to his eyes.  They were so intense.  Less salty opponents would be drawn to the look in his eyes, pulling them in like a magnet.  Deep intensity always colored him during his battles, along with deeper determination, if not to win, then simply to prove himself a worthy foe.  Combined, these colors painted lovely pictures on Luigi’s face, accentuated by heavy concentration on his opponents and on his strategy.  Breathtaking.  Beautiful.  Mario leaned forward and bit his lip as the _whoosh_ -ing and whistling of his brother’s breaths grew fiercer and angrier.

              Luigi seldom let his personal feelings regarding an opponent get in his way during a match.  If he did, then it was a subtle sprinkle.  Or something or someone else angered or frustrated him, and he used the match to blow off steam before he did something he’d regret.  But Mario could sense that something about the opponent had irked Luigi.  It was in his eyes and in the pace, volume and cadence of his breathing.  Whatever it was, look what it did to that handsome face!  The sight intoxicated the audience, multiplying their cheers for the man in green.  His entire body was aglow with sweat, droplets flying off him as he polished off another combo.  Locks of hair were stuck to his forehead, his cheeks were lightly flushed, and his green shirt had darkened.  His chest was begging him to quit, but he wasn’t about to let his opponent know that he was exhausted.  Each time he re-grabbed, he’d allow himself a quick, deep breath before diving right into another combo.  He kept going and going and going until he could no longer ignore his lungs cursing him out, at which point he’d retreat and pin his foe with fireballs.

              “About freaking time,” one spectator grumbled.  Mario fired him a pointed look, but remained silent.

              “That guy is broken,” muttered another.  “Plain and simple.”

              Mario ignored him, instead thinking about the times when _he_ was the one facing Luigi in battle.  Even after sixteen years, he never stopped looking forward to it.  Their appointments on the battlefield were more explosive than their spars in the Training Area.  With his eyes, Luigi would tell him that he was going all-out, and he never reneged on that promise.  He’d be on the receiving end of those intense expressions.  He’d get a closer look at the perspiration trailing down his neck and sparkling on his face.  He especially loved it as emotions flashed and played along those baby blues.  In their clashes, loads of tension were released and both sides of their relationship were on full display—the loyal, loving side and the taut, competitive side brought on by their fame inequality, the side everyone was hesitant to touch upon lest it spoiled the fun.  So many feelings brewed between them during the heat of battle that it was obligatory for them to hug it out afterwards, regardless of the victor.  If Mario had to lose to anyone in Smash, then he’d chose to lose to Luigi.

              At that moment, the man in green soared through the air and slammed hard into the opponent like a Semi.  Before the unfortunate foe could recover, Luigi quickly set them up for a grab and a combo.  And Mario could tell by the ferocity of his strikes that this was a kill combo.  In a kill combo, Luigi gave it everything he had, breathlessness be d—ned.  Whatever energy he’d stored during the match was saved for last.  Fire blazed in his face, his power and emotions becoming nice and focused.  It was like the finale of a fireworks display.  Usually, the audience members rooting for him were on their feet, whooping, yelling and chanting.  At this point, nobody cared when Mario started bouncing up and down, cheering as if he was possessed.  They didn’t care as the volume of his cheers increased.  Even the Mii ushers were too enraptured in Luigi’s imaginative kill combo to notice Jumpman’s animated disposition.

              And after the match was finished and Luigi’s victory was announced, Mario rushed over to him and enfolded him in a congratulatory hug which left some of his sweat smeared on his red shirt.  He didn’t mind.  He also didn’t mind inhaling his baby bro’s essence just after a match, seeing those bright eyes, that tousled hair and that heaving chest and feeling the leftover adrenaline inside his body.  Compliments spilled forth from Mario’s lips, and Luigi always responded by dropping his eyes, blushing, and sheepishly mumbling about practicing.  What mattered the most to the green-clad brother was that Mario had been _there_ , watching him and rooting for him and cheering him on.  His presence had been the primary source of much needed energy and motivation.

              And even if he couldn’t attend—either because he was fighting a match of his own or because he was ill—then Luigi would simply think about the times he rescued Mario and the valuable assistance he provided during their adventures together.  Curing him of Bean Fever after a perilous journey.  Freeing him from eternal imprisonment in portraits.  The times during a heated battle where he pulled him from the brink of a crushing defeat.  Growing into a fearsome giant to defend him in a recent dreamy adventure.  He’d think about how Mario would’ve lost if it weren’t for his quick thinking.

              Mario smiled as Luigi headed off for a quick shower.  He had quite a heavy lineup today, so he shouldn’t get too comfortable.  The thought of his baby bro dazzling more audiences with his combos had his heart racing all over again.  Maybe he should stop at the commissary to buy some lozenges.  Since he’d be able to spectate the rest of his bro’s matches, his throat would need some relief after so much passionate cheering.

**1.1.1**

              His mop of blue hair easily concealed the knot on his forehead.  The ice relieved the physical pain, but the bitterness of losing—not so much.  The odds looked in his favor.  He had his Tipper and his Counter and his sword skills.  But the victor’s spoils had been swiped from him by a lowly peasant!  What did he have?  Fists?  Fire?  Power-ups?  The bluenette was certain that today would be his day to shine; he’d even dressed for the occasion.  But then _he’d_ shown up—that pathetic little _peasant_ had shown up, and ruined everything—after that first butt-slam, he could kiss his shot at victory goodbye!  And the worst part?  The majority of the audience _liked_ it!

              The blue-haired prince swore in Japanese, removing the ice pack from his handsome face and throwing it across the room.  “I am of noble birth!  He will never usurp me!” he seethed, also in Japanese.

              It had been hours since that match, but he hadn’t let go of the rage.  He’d refused to talk to the peasant who had defeated him or shake his hand.  After the defeat, he went to the Training Area and slashed Sandbags for a few hours.  Then, he sought the company of his red-haired lover.  And finally, he witnessed several others get trounced by that man in green, envy arising in his gut.  This was a person he once held in high regard.  When he was a newcomer in 2001, the man had told him how he’d conquered his fears to see his brother safe.  In 2008, the bluenette had been floored as the normally timid man stood strong against a malevolent being.  But that was then, and this was now.  He felt nothing but foul scorn and contempt for the plumber who dared to bring him to his knees.  During this tournament, the two began to drift apart, and the bluenette’s snobby attitude was the reason why.

              “Psst, hey,” his fiery-haired lover whispered to him.  “You’re coming tonight?”

              “Indeed,” he smirked.

              That peasant had better enjoy his little oasis while he still could…

**1.1.1**

              In a lavish manor in an undisclosed location where the cool night winds whisked the picturesque landscape in a sleepy little part of town where nobody would notice, there was a gathering going on.  A man in a black suit and white tie stood at the front door, smiling and greeting the numerous guests filing inside.  This was a quasi-formal social event which drew people in from miles around.  Tuxedo clad men had arrived either in limousines or in their own swanky rides, each with a lady wearing an elegant gown on his arm.  These guests were fed well, from crudités and cocktail wieners to stuffed chicken breast, poached salmon and smothered steaks and finally a variety of cakes, ice creams and chocolates.  Paired with this magnificent feast were the best wines on the market, and it wasn’t long before everyone started cutting loose a bit.

              But this gathering wasn’t completely social.  There was some business to attend to.  And the business in question concerned a certain endeavor led by the three proprietors of the manor.  Their names, from youngest to eldest, were Shane, Manny and Vincent.

              One everyone had been sufficiently stuffed with delicious food, Vincent lightly tapped his glass, gaining everyone’s attention.

              “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said.  “Thank you all for coming out and showing me and my brothers that you’re still committed to this project.  The first order of business on our agenda is to welcome a very special guest.”

              The man with the blue hair smiled lightly.  He had changed clothes and was now dressed in white, his familiar divine sword on his hip.  Next to him sat his fiery-haired lover, looking equally anticipated.

              “Our guest has valuable knowledge of what we’re up against.  He’s experienced it countless times, along with the humiliation in its aftermath.  I personally asked him to come over tonight and say a few words about this horrific blight and why it must be eradicated.  Let’s all put our hands together for the Prince of Altea and the Hero King, Marth Lowell!”

              Calm and dignified, Marth rose and joined Vincent at his seat.

              “Good evening,” he said.

              “Good evening.”

              “First of all, I’d like to thank Vincent for having me here tonight.  And I am here because for the last time, I was bodied and trounced by a mere peasant, a peasant who has stepped out of line.  I’m talking, of course, about Luigi.

              “Now, Luigi has this thing going on in his head that he’s a hero, too, but he was created solely for the Player Two slot.  As a faithful sidekick, and nothing more.  And all he should’ve done was to accept it and be happy.  But, no.  He gets all flustered over his big bro getting most of the credit for their exploits, but let me ask you—who does most of the grunt work?  Who would want to give their attention to him?  I mean, look at him!  He’s awkward, he’s scared of everything—being a shadow is perfect for him!  Well, he seems to think differently, and he convinced Nintendo, too, because they wasted a year on him.  Okay, he plucks someone out of a painting.  How heroic is that?  Is that worthy of a whole year of attention?  I think not!

              “Okay, getting back to the subject, I have some photos to show you all.  These photos were taken from a match earlier today in which Luigi and I faced off.  I’m convinced that once you look at them hard enough, then you will share my outrage.”

              Marth passed the photos to the nearest person at the table, preening at the attention he was receiving.  People swore under their breaths, shook their fists, swooned or crossed themselves at the sight of the Altean prince being overcome by the man in green.

              “Do you see what is wrong with this picture?  He shouldn’t beat me!” shouted Marth.  “Remember in the good old days when he was considered the worst fighter on the roster?  Well, I aim to bring those days back.  And it appears that you do, too.”  He smiled.  “We’re going to find a way to pull Luigi’s pedestal out from under him and send him tumbling back down where he belongs.  Perhaps if something happened to that down throw of his, he’d remember his place.

              “So, you have a little project going on, eh?  Project Nerf, is it?  Well, never fear.  If you find some way to cut me in, along with the man I love…”  He gestured to the redhead.  “…then I shall assist you to the best of my ability.  Do we have an accord?”

              Vincent put a hand on Marth’s shoulder.  “Marth, you want to crush that man’s self-esteem, and so do we.  Together, he doesn’t stand a chance.”  Indicating the redhead, he continued, “and don’t worry.  We’ll get Roy in on this, as well.  We need as much help as we can get.”  He nodded.  “Welcome to the club, milords.”

 

             

     


	4. T Minus 28 Days

              Be friends with someone long enough and you’d come to know them.  I mean, _really_ know them.  If you were a Smasher, and you were in a Smasher’s orbit long enough, then you’d be well-versed in that Smasher’s strategy.

              It started with twelve Smashers.  They were the closest-knit of the bunch.  The succeeding generations looked up to them as “the old pros”.  They were the spine, the glue, the superstructure.  The Original Twelve had become a family, the bonds between them cemented years ago.  Especially four of them.

              The Formidable Four consisted of Ness, Captain Falcon, Luigi and Jigglypuff.  They were hidden characters during the first go-round.  Though times had changed, the name still stuck, and so did their deep friendship, despite some setbacks here and there.

              Port Town Aero Dive currently hosted a bout between the good Captain and the man in green.  Memories and emotions ran deep as Luigi flicked fireballs at the racer, and then moved in close for aggressive punches, straight kicks and flying kicks.  Falcon pulled back and released his trademark punch.  But his opponent wasn’t down for long.  The Falcon Punch set something off in him, and he decided to stop fooling around with this guy and show him that he was far from a n—b.

              Oh, yes, did I mention that Douglas Jay Falcon once called Luigi, his supposed best friend, that name a long time ago?  He did.

              He also said he was “the last-place loser” and “the bottom of the food chain”.  Some friend.

              Douglas was slammed to the floor and Ground Pounded seconds later, launching him.  Luigi followed him with his eyes, short hopped and sliced into the other man with vicious f-airs.  Then a flip kick, and then a downwards drill, and then—

              The racer thought he’d gotten away, but he was quickly grabbed again.  He’d seen Luigi’s playstyle evolve from tournament to tournament, from his wavedash in Melee to his awesome hidden power in Brawl.  But this—this came as a curveball to everyone, a throw allowing the green-clad hero to combo an opponent until neither could take anymore.  Almost infinite combos.  And now Falcon was tasting yet another of them.

              His friends loved it.  His enemies hated it.  Smash players in the real world embraced it.  And Luigi—he was always humble about it.  He knew his combos would only be good through continued practice.  You should hear him in the Training Room, with a Sandbag or a partner.

              F-air, f-air, f-air.  Breathe.  D-air.  Breathe.  Mix-up.  Bait.  Read.  Breathe.

              He was showing Falcon his moves, all right.

              There was a wicked cover of the Mute City theme on the loudspeakers, which was silly.  They weren’t in Mute City; they were in Port Town.  But the rock anthem had Luigi’s blood pumping.  He wanted to tear up this racer.  Douglas had broken free of a combo and knee-smashed him.  Blood had squirted.  Pain.  Luigi fought defensively with his fireballs, but the racer still got a Falcon Punch or two in, plus a Falcon Dive and a heavy Falcon Kick.  And to top it all off, the Heel of Shame.

              He hated the Heel of Shame.  He hated the Falcon Punch.  He hated the Knee of Justice.  And the d-air stomp.  And the Falcon Dive and the Falcon Kick and the cocky smirk on Falcon’s face and his “Show me ya moves!”

              Sweating, breath coming fast, eyes promising Hell on Earth.  None of this was lost on Captain Falcon.  He remembered the great, big jerk he used to be to Luigi, the way he used to act over some list on a piece of paper.  Pulling pranks, putting him down, insulting him, tying his shoelaces together, laughing at him.  A bloody fistfight in the lounge, with Luigi winning.  Falcon had changed, but his relationship with Luigi hadn’t been the same since their reconciliation.  Because the man in green could never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

              Especially in a heated battle.

              Luigi worked Falcon with mighty, brutal combos.  He was breathing in those fierce whistles.  He was surprised at the powerful anger he still felt.  Sixteen years after the fact, and it had never dulled.  In this moment in time, he _hated_ this racer!  Hated him!  Hated him for what he did.  Hated him for that stupid [ _bleep_ ]-ing Falcon Punch and Falcon Kick and Falcon Dive.  Hated him for the stupid [ _bleep_ ]-ing Knee of Justice and the stupid [ _bleep_ ]-ing Heel of Shame.  Hated him for the way he continued to preen over the aforementioned moves while taunting opponents about showing _their_ moves.  Well, how about these combos, Falcon?  Are they enough moves for you?!

              Sweat.  Aggression.  Testosterone.  Luigi made no move to hinder the flow.  He allowed himself to think about the pranks, the name-callings, the snubs, the blow-offs and yes, the shoelace-tying.  Yes, Falcon was sorry and their friendship was long since pieced back together, but the fact remained that the racer put the plumber through a load of [ _bleep_ ] which left tiny splinters on his feelings for the racer.  Hidden shards of glass which still cut deeply and bled heavily.  And as Luigi battered his opponent with hand-poking attacks, leg sweeps, head butts and down throw combos, he stepped on the nasty shards, the hurt and resentment and fury lingering in the back of his mind, begging for release, and he released it all in torrents.  His blows, harder and harder.  His eyes, so dangerous.  His breathing, so fast and so harsh and so flustered-sounding.  His face, so flushed.  He was bleeding, inside and out.  Falcon’s attacks didn’t play, but neither did Luigi’s.  He made his lungs work harder and harder as he styled many fascinating combos.  He purged his mind of memories and his body of adrenaline.

              Once Luigi claimed the victory with a misfired Missile, the cuts from the shards healed, the bleeding stopped, and it didn’t hurt anymore.  The past receded, the rage dulled, and he found himself liking Douglas again.  He smiled, shook his hand, told him he fought well.  Falcon was reeling from the beatdown, but not salty.  Part of him told him that he deserved it, and his Falcon Punch didn’t make him better than everyone else.  He congratulated Luigi and left him be, knowing that he need to cool off for a few hours.  His past actions were a sore on his relationship with Luigi, and it would always be agitated, no matter what he did.

              Little did he know that a spectator of the battle was out to take advantage of him…

**1.1.1**

              _Are you okay?_ the psychic Pokémon asked the racer.

              “Yeah,” Falcon said quietly.  “Just battered a bit.”

              _It’s not fair, you know_ , mused Mewtwo.

              “What isn’t?” asked Falcon.

              _That you, the bearer of the mighty Falcon Punch, lost to a nobody._

              Falcon whipped around, glaring at him.  “Luigi _is_ somebody,” he snapped.  “He’s my friend, and he’s a strong fighter.  It’s my fault I lost.  I’ve slacked off lately, and I guess I need to get back to training.”

              _You mean to tell me that you’re not in the least bit humiliated by what he did to you out there?_

              “Why would I be?  I kinda deserved it,” sighed Falcon.  “You know the way I used to act toward him.”

              _Douglas, you did nothing wrong.  You spoke the truth.  Luigi is the n—b of n—bs, a stuck-up little insect, and a loser.  You should be angry that he won over you.  He’s the inferior one._

“Inferior?  Inferior?  Tell me something, Mewtwo, was he inferior during Melee’s Event 51?  He was pitted against three fearsome villains, and yet he came out on top.  You should know because you were one of the opponents.  And furthermore, what are you getting at?”

              _I know three men who can help solve this problem_ , smirked Mewtwo, handing Falcon a card.  _Seeing you on one of your home stages with that plumber tearing you apart—I couldn’t bear it.  Look, I can read your mind.  Despite your objections, I know you’re seething internally over losing to that waste of skin.  But I want you to know—you’re not powerless.  Something_ can _be done about him._

              Falcon shoved the card back at Mewtwo.  “No.  You’re crazy,” he spat.  “There’s nothing wrong with Luigi.  I just need to practice.  That’s all.  And you’re lucky I don’t tell on you about the things you just said.  Good day, Mewtwo.”

              He turned and stalked off.  Mewtwo stared after him like a child denied a piece of candy.

              _At least I tried_ , he murmured.

**1.1.1**

              The doors of the pizza place opened, and in walked a man in a suit, escorting a Pokémon, an angel with red eyes and black wings, and a diminutive Mii with blue hair and gray eyes.  They were led to the back room of the place, where the Bennigan Brothers and some fresh, hot pizza awaited them.

              “Mewtwo,” said Shane.

              “Dark Pit,” said Manny.

              “Kyle,” said Vincent.

              The trio sat down.

              _I couldn’t sway Falcon_ , said Mewtwo.  _Sorry_.

              “At least you compensated with two,” said Vincent.  “Now, let’s discuss the terms of our arrangement.”

              “What’s there to discuss?” Dark Pit broke in.  “We convince the higher-ups that Luigi is broken, and they fix him.”

              “That’s only part of it,” said Shane.  “You will be paid generously for your services.  You will supply ammunition for our project by explaining why that down throw needs to be done away with.  You will connect us with the higher-ups, including those higher than Master Hand.  Your efforts will restore Luigi to his rightful place at the bottom.”

              “How much are we talking about?” asked Kyle.

              “A starting fee of five figures,” said Manny, “plus a heftier sum when the job’s done.”

              “If we get you in touch with the higher-ups,” said Kyle, “then will you get us in touch with people who can help us?”

              “Of course,” said Vincent.

              “Then I’m in,” said Kyle.

              _So am I_ , added Mewtwo.  _I can’t wait to see him get what he deserves_.

              Dark Pit glared at the Bennigan Brothers.  “I help power your machine,” he said, “and you take me to Chuck-E-Cheese’s every Friday and Saturday of the week.”

              “We can have that arranged,” Manny said coolly.

              Dark Pit smiled.  “Count me in, too.”

              The three shook hands with the Bennigan Brothers before helping themselves to pizza.

             

             


	5. T Minus 27 Days

              If Smashers wanted to have fun, then they fought on stages like Golden Plains, Miiverse, WarioWare or Delfino Plaza.  If Smashers wanted to get serious, then they fought in Smashville or Town and City.  These two were revered for their simplistic layout and lack of hazards—not to mention the friendly townspeople who stopped by to watch or K.K. Slider’s frequent performances.  The light-hearted and happy music playing contrasted perfectly with the combatants’ intensity.  Smashville and Town and City were mere steps away from Final Destination when Smashers wanted to get down to business and fight like they meant it.

              And right now, two Smashers wanted to kick some serious butt.

              Smashville, the Villager’s hometown, played host to a no-holds-barred skirmish between Luigi and Falco Lombardi.  Falco was the ace pilot of Star Fox, reliable despite some friction with his leader and comrade, Fox.  He was known to be brash and a bit cocky, but overall likeable and tolerable.  Like Luigi, Falco was Italian-American and hailed from Brooklyn, New York.  No wonder they were drawn to each other in Melee!  These bona fide Brooklyn buddies felt that familiar scrappiness float to the surface as they traded blows.  Falco’s wing strikes, beak attacks, kicks and the special moves he shared with Fox.  Luigi’s bruising attacks, and of course, his combos and his Super Jump Punch.  Pilot and plumber were almost evenly matched against the cheerful backdrop of Smashville, “Go K.K Rider” playing full blast over the loudspeakers.

              While Smashville’s denizens observed silently, the spectators in the stands tended to vocalize, one half cheering for Luigi, the other half cheering for Falco and Fox cheering for both.  The combatants were covered in sweat and bruises, had one stock left, and their damage percentages were in the triple digits.  They were getting exhausted and cross, especially Falco, whose speed and power of flight were no match for Luigi’s down throw.  Seriously, that move was becoming the death of the avian!  In their previous matches, Falco had lost because of those combos!  But Luigi was a good friend, so Falco was willing to let it slide—for now.

              Luigi dashed in, only for Falco to kick out his Reflector and fire painful, blue lasers from his Blaster.  Thank God his shots made his opponents flinch.  Falco fired a few more times before further blindsiding his opponent with the Falco Phantasm and chaining off and aerial combo, finishing with a flurry of slices from his wings and a short-hop d-air.  The last hit produced a meteor effect, causing Luigi to bounce off the stage.

              _Why not?_   Falco thought to himself as he took advantage to combo up on his friend some more.  He sure deserved it after the combos he styled on him since the introduction of his new down throw.  His fiercer strikes forced Luigi to the ledge, but he quickly stopped the offensive assault with a swift ledge attack.

              After getting up from the ledge, Luigi stared down Falco, ears ringing, face swollen and spattered with bruises, bloodied and slightly disoriented.  He took a few breaths to collect himself and wrenched his body erect, fists raised, feeling the ache in his body and tasting his own blood but not backing down.  He heard a burst of cheering from the stands, which made him forget about Falco’s attacks.  He’d show this bird what style was!

              Falco took a moment to survey his handiwork and rushed Luigi, who backflipped over him and executed a short hop n-air, and then a b-air, low kick and a few jabs.

              And then he grabbed.

              _Oh, no…_ Falco groaned inwardly.

              Luigi took a preparatory breath and Ground-Pounded Falco, leading to a f-air string, and then re-grabbed and repeated.  This was his secret weapon coming out to play.  Combo after combo, the cheers for Luigi grew louder, and Falco’s chances of winning grew slimmer.  Today, Luigi wouldn’t care less about breathlessness.  His lungs just had to deal with it.  Because with each hit from the Blaster, Fire Bird, Reflector and Phantasm came remnants of Fox and Falco’s 20XX regime in Melee.  The vulpine and the avian had been treated—and acted like—a couple of celebrities, hosting parties, generating memes, strutting, boasting and dumping on “low tier trash”.  Fox did most of it, but Falco could be a bit biting, as well.  It put the avian’s relationship with Luigi on shaky ground for a while, especially with his attitude towards the plumber’s friend, Kirby, known as the Filthy Casual of Melee.  But through a series of otherwise avoidable blunders, Falco learned from his mistakes, as did Fox.  Still, the memories couldn’t help but well up sometimes.

              Sweat cleansed the blood from Luigi’s face, and now Falco was in serious trouble.  Seeing the look in his pal’s eyes, the avian knew that he was going for a kill combo!  He fought defensively now, trying to pin the plumber with Blaster fire.  Fat chance!  Luigi shielded and dodged the lasers, dashed in and grabbed before Falco knew what hit him!  Now, the man in green threw everything he had into his attacks, following his opponent perfectly and reading him whenever he tried to escape.  He smoothly transitioned from ground to air and back again.  He threw a few fireballs to lead into a grab.  He brought aerial Cyclones to the table, pulled his trusty Missile out of his pockets and brought on the jank with his fiery uppercut.  He concentrated harder and harder, his breathing becoming faster and sharper.  The sounds of those familiar aggressive breaths rode the notes from the loudspeakers toward the spectators, and they reluctantly quieted their cheers, allowing Luigi to concentrate on setting up for the final blow.

              Meanwhile, Falco cursed internally.  He wasn’t gonna lose to this plumber again.  He _just_ wasn’t!  Luigi knew the avian was starting to panic, for he was making critical mistakes—all the easier for him to polish his punish game.  In frustration, Falco tried his Phantasm, but overshot Luigi and wound up on the edge of the stage.  Crisply, the man in green slammed the avian down and started an offstage aerial combo, deciding Falco’s fate with a d-air, which spiked him and sent him plummeting into the blast zone!

              “GAME!”

**1.1.1**

              Falco Lombardi was battered, bruised and fed up.  He was nearly crying with frustration as Luigi humbly accepted the victor’s spoils and posed flamboyantly for the spectators.  The avian himself got a consolation prize, but it still didn’t change how this plumber outsmarted him for the umpteenth time!

              As they walked out of the reception area, Luigi paused and offered his hand to Falco.  “Good fight,” he said cordially.

              _Yeah, for you_ , thought Falco as he accepted the handshake.  “Yeah.  Good job, and congrats.”

              Slinging a playful wing over Luigi’s shoulders, Falco continued, “Where do you get those combos from—outer space?”

              “Lots of practice, I guess,” Luigi mumbled shyly.

              “Trust me, I have never seen a combo game quite like yours.  It’s something else!”

              “I know.  But it wasn’t always.”

              “Uh—that wasn’t a compliment, Luigi.”

              Luigi froze.  “Excuse me?”

              “Man, I have lost to you for several matches straight!  It’s getting on my nerves!”

              “In my eyes, this is never about winning or losing,” Luigi said, fixing the avian with an intense stare.

              “Yeah?  Well, you seemed to enjoy combo-ing me into oblivion back there.  Do you enjoy doing that to all of your opponents, hmm?”

              Luigi slowly blinked, and then arched an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry—what’s that supposed to mean?”

              “You don’t have to play dumb with me, L—you know exactly what it means.  I wouldn’t rely so much on those precious combos of yours if I were you, because nobody said they were a permanent fixture in Smash.  Count your blessings and thank your lucky Star Sprites while you can, ‘cause nothing lasts forever, y’know?  Just you wait till something happens to those stupid [ _bleep_ ]-ing combos.  You won’t be posing around like some prima donna or smoothly gliding to one victory after another then!  A lot of Smashers are getting fed up with ‘em, anyway!”

              The impact of those words flickered across Luigi’s face for a hot second, but it was long enough for Falco to see it and make him wish he could take them back.

              An ugly silence hung between them as Luigi hardly dared to believe that one of his _friends_ actually got _salty_ over his down throw and said _that_ to him…

              “Wow,” he said, flat and monotone, his face devoid of emotion as he spun on his heel and walked briskly toward the elevators, not sparing a second glance at Falco.

              “Luigi…” said Falco, starting after him.

              Luigi kept walking, breathing heavily and swiping at his eyes.

              “L, wait!” persisted Falco.

              Luigi ignored him and walked faster, tight-lipped.

              “Look, I’m sorry…”

              Falco’s words fell on deaf ears.  Luigi reached the elevator bay and pressed the call button, standing there with his arms folded and his gaze fixed somewhere outside the window.  Finally, the elevator arrived, and the doors slid open.

              As Luigi strode inside and selected the desired floor, Falco caught up to him.  “Luigi?”

              The plumber glanced up at him with flashing eyes.  "What?" he snapped.

              “I’m sorry,” sighed Falco.  “Honestly, I am.”

              “Yeah,” Luigi replied, clipped and curt.  “I know.”

              And then the elevator slammed shut between them.

              Releasing a shuddering breath, Luigi sharply turned and aimed a few punches at the elevator wall, denting it significantly.  _He didn’t mean it—he didn’t mean it_ , his mind reassured him, but he knew better.  His combos had received plenty of salt lately; the heated conversations between Master Hand and vanquished opponents he liked to listen in on proved that.  And now, one of his friends had finally stooped to that level.

              _He didn’t mean it—_

              The elevator reached his stop.  Again swiping at his eyes, Luigi exited the elevator and headed straight to the Training Room.  Its occupants quickly noticed the flustered expression on his face and started in on him.

              “What happened?”

              “Did you lose?”

              “You okay, L?”

              “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine,” Luigi responded, as if it was no big deal.  “My opponent just got a little salty.”

              Uh-oh.  Mario walked in on that statement, and now the elder brother bearing congratulations had morphed into the protective elder brother who was death on anyone who dared make Luigi upset!

              “What did he say?” Mario asked in a tight voice.

              “It’s nothing.  Really, it’s nothing.”

              “Bro.  What.  Did.  He.  Say?”

              Luigi sighed.  “I’ll tell you later, alright?  I just—I…”

              Mario’s face softened as he pulled his baby bro into a hug.  Tension oozed from the green-clad man’s body.  As much as he would’ve liked to see Mario tear Falco a new tail-feather for the words he said, he still wanted to give the avian the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe Falco was just having a bad day, and he needed to cool off, and—

              _Well, that’s no excuse_ , he thought harshly as he exhaled into his big bro’s shoulder.  He needed to punch something, and fast.  The Bros held each other close a big longer, and then reluctantly separated.  That was when Mario saw the wet shine in Luigi’s eyes, but he respected his wishes and didn’t broach the subject.

              Luigi blinked back his tears, deciding that Falco wasn’t worth half a cry.  Instead, he steamrolled over to the first vacant Sandbag he saw and released his emotions on it, pelting it with violent and furious blows, his face quickly reddening and his eyes going hate-mad.  The other Smashers in the room solemnly looked on, and one-by-one, they gravitated toward the exit, knowing deep in their hearts that the man in green needed some time alone.

**1.1.1**

              Later that night, Luigi relaxed in his room, having used the Sandbag and his last matches to sweat out his hurt and anger from the incident with Falco.  His TV was showing an episode from a sitcom he watched as a child, and he could recite most of the lines by heart.  Just as his favorite scene approached, his cell phone rang.

              Blowing air between his lips, Luigi picked up his phone and was further vexed to see that Falco was on the caller ID.  He decided to answer it, knowing that the bird would simply pester him and blow up his voicemail inbox.

              “Falco, this had better be worth my time,” he said.

              “Oh, it is.  There’s this wonderful Italian restaurant not far from here,” said Falco.  “I was wondering if we could, say, meet—at 11:30?”

              “Great.  Perfect,” replied Luigi.

              “Hey, L—I still like you.”

              Luigi hung up without gracing that statement with a response.  It didn’t deserve one.  Before this afternoon, he would’ve believed it.  But now—not so much.

              His interest in the sitcom lost, Luigi aimed his remote control at the TV and turned it off.  He puffed his cheeks and blew out several breaths.  Here he was, enjoying his night, and that bird just _had_ to spoil it!  The echo of his words came, and Luigi felt the pain in his chest.  Falco might as well had punched him through the heart.  A low murmur of Italian swear words issued from his lips before he hopped out of the bed and stuffed some sweat towels and deodorant into one of his gym bags.  Then, he slung the bag over his shoulder, strode out of his room, stopped to get a frosted-over bottle of Gatorade and then let himself into the Training Room, making sure to lock the door behind him.

              As soon as he plugged in his music, he let himself go for a few hours.  It would help him before facing Falco again—

**1.1.1**

              At 11:25, Luigi walked into the restaurant—his favorite, to be exact—and saw Falco sitting at a table for two, dressed in a fabulous tuxedo.  Luigi was also clad in a tux, but he also sported a green vest and slicked down hair, along with a tough of cologne.  The avian looked up and met his gaze, and a smile broke out on his face.  He got up from his chair and walked over to him.

              “L,” greeted Falco, shaking Luigi’s hand and then drawing him in for an embrace.

              Silently, Luigi hugged Falco back and then looked him over, searching the friendly, cordial expression on his face.

              “I’m glad you could make it,” said Falco.  “You—you look handsome.”

              Luigi nodded.  “So do you.”

              “They came by with some fresh bread and butter,” said Falco as the two headed to their table, the avian pulling out his friend’s chair for him.

              Luigi took a piece.  “It’s still warm,” he observed before adorning the bread with a smear of savory butter and popping it into his mouth.

              “It’s free,” shrugged Falco.  “Comes with the meal.”

              “Good to know,” murmured Luigi, helping himself to another slice.

              Then, there was silence between them, save for the methodical chewing of bread, the occasional sipping of water and the soft clattering of butter knives.

              “How did you know I’m wild about this place?”  The question suddenly came to Luigi.

              “First guess.”  Falco’s face was obscured by his menu.  “Hey—they’re having their pasta and pizza combo thingy going on.  Interested?”

              Luigi couldn’t resist a smile.  “Wow—you’re really after my own heart!”  Then, he raised an eyebrow.  “What’s the occasion?”

              Falco chuckled.  “Do I need an occasion to have a friendly meal with a fellow Smasher?”

              Luigi tossed his head.  “Contrary to what you think, you don’t have a good poker face.  There _has_ to be something behind this.  Seriously—what’s happening?”

              A maitre’d approached them, and Falco took the opportunity to order a bottle of wine.

              “Falco?” Luigi asked, expectantly, after the maitre’d had left.

              “Oh—um…” Falco looked away.  “Yeah—um—you got me.  There’s something behind this, actually.”  He cleared his throat, still unable to look at Luigi.

              The maitre’d returned with two wine glasses, with another close behind with the wine Falco had ordered.  The one with the wine made a big show of popping the cork and pouring the deep red liquid into the two glasses.  Over the commotion, Luigi looked hard at Falco, now distracting himself with the flow of red wine.  But he felt the blue eyes on him, and slowly, the avian looked up, into Luigi’s face.

              Once they were alone, Falco continued.  “I saw this as a perfect opportunity to apologize—properly—for the words I threw at you this afternoon.  Despite being flustered over your combos, that was plain—unacceptable.”

              “Indeed, it was,” Luigi told him in a matter-of-fact tone.

              “I had no reason and no right to act salty over it.”

              Luigi shook his head.  “No.  You didn’t.”   

              “The reason why I lost was because of me, not because of you.  I should’ve spent more time practicing in the Training Area.”

              “That’s right,” Luigi said, a bit icily.  “You should’ve.”

              “Or maybe went to someone for advice.”

              “Advice,” repeated Luigi, tersely.  “On how to beat me?”

              “No—just to—improve—against you.”

              “Yeah.  I bet.”  Luigi took a sip of wine, just as bittersweet as his feelings toward the avian sitting across from him.

              “Luigi—I saw the look on your face when I said those words.  And I’m telling you, they just slipped out before I could stop them.”

              _Yeah, right_.

              “I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I didn’t mean to upset you.”

              _Oh, I bet one POW block that you didn’t_.

              “Whether or not you didn’t mean to, you did—badly.”

              Falco thought he heard a quaver, or a crack, in Luigi’s voice and felt even worse.  He’d do anything to make it up to him.

              “I’m really, really sorry for that, L.  I was out of line.  We’ve been friends for years—fourteen years!  Heck, we both hail from Brooklyn!  To fall out over something as trivial as a Smash battle—would be preposterous.”

              Luigi listened, again sipping some wine, licking it from his lips and feeling the alcohol beginning to tingle.  Throughout his life, he’d developed this uncanny ability to tell whether or not an apology was sincere.  And sitting here in a posh Italian restaurant, Luigi heard the nuances in Falco’s voice and the force behind his words.  He saw the guilt-ridden, ashamed expression on Falco’s face.  And the anger gripping him gradually began to loosen its hold, along with the hurt.

              “Falco—it was very sweet of you to do this,” Luigi said softly, “but really, it was nothing.  You were just hot over the match, and I knew that you probably didn’t mean what you said.  I’ve been over it for a few hours now.  Still, it was lovely to hear you actually apologize.  A lot of people don’t.”

              “You’re one of the best out there, L,” nodded Falco.

              “Now you’re just trying to butter me up,” eyerolled Luigi.  “Just thank _your_ lucky stars that I didn’t tell Mario on you.”

              “Oh, yeah—I’m a lucky bird!”

              “You’re also fortunate that there was surveillance in that hallway—otherwise, things would’ve gotten physical,” Luigi said, half-jokingly.

              “L, I have seen you trounce fighters considerably larger and stronger than you.  I know you don’t play around!” laughed Falco.

              “But really—can we stop talking about it?” beseeched Luigi.  “Apologizing won’t unsay your little rant, you know.  The least we can do is put it behind us, move forward, and in your case, think before you let words fly out of your beak, yes?”

              Falco put a wing over his heart.  “It will never happen again.  You have my word,” he promised.

              A beaming smile on his face, Luigi reached over and took Falco’s other wing in his hand.

              “I forgive you, Falco.”


	6. T Minus 26 Days

              When it came to free-for-alls, Luigi’s battle strategy was strikingly different than a 1-on-1 fight.  In a free-for-all, he fought more defensively, knowing that his other opponents took many an opportunity to gang up on him.  For as long as he could remember, free-for-alls were the moments where those who deplored him had legit excuses to use him as a punching bag.  But he was ready for them.  Using his trusty fireballs, he’d isolate them, one after another, before unleashing his version of Hell.  This was why he was as formidable and fearsome against multiple opponents as he was against a single foe.

              But now, Luigi’s opponents were _really_ in for it following Falco’s little outburst.  The avian had spent the full day doing what he could to demonstrate his remorse.  He cooked his friend a New York steak and egg combo for breakfast and bought him goodies such as Nimble Dodger Overalls, Safe Respawner Gloves, Agility Badges, Brawn Badges and Auto-Healing Shoes at the Smash Commissary.  He treated him to towering ice-cream sundaes and Nathan’s Hot Dogs and Cinnabons.  He even lugged a karaoke machine to his room, gave him half of his CD collection and lent him some musical instruments he rarely played.  He sent Luigi model Arwings and Landmasters and had all manner of material things delivered to his door, courtesy of the JoyRun app on his Smartphone.  But no delicacies or models or music CDs or musical instruments or sugary words or clothing would ever ease the impact of those words; Falco could say “sorry” a million-billion-trillion-gazillion- _bajillion_ times, and his angry, salt-laden words wouldn’t hurt less.  Almost twenty-four hours after the words had been spoken, they still rang in Luigi’s head and sent agonizing squeezes through him.  They made his throat knot up and tears pop out of his eyes.  They made him confused and self-conscious and even doubtful of his combo game.  They hurt him more than a fully charged Smash attack and stirred something ugly and nasty in him, and every last match that day was the perfect outlet for those runaway emotions.

              Man, he was a sight that day!  Mario sat in the front, as usual, with Peach, Yoshi, Rosalina, DK, Diddy, Little Mac and some other friends, bouncing and jumping uncontrollably, cheering his throat sore for his baby bro.  He’d never seen intensity or energy like this in quite some time.  His dazzling bro, tall and hot and flushed and sweaty and agile and fluid and confident, the only concern being the glossy look in his blue eyes, as if he’d been crying.  But he refused to cry.  His opponents would never see him cry.  Each breath kicked forcefully from his lungs as he eagerly grabbed, pivot-grabbed or dash-grabbed opponents and butt-slammed them into a relentless combo.  He didn’t even give them adequate time to try and DI away.

              And now, in his last bout of the day, he was involved in a free-for-all with seven other opponents on Big Battlefield.  They came to him with their smirking faces, visions of pounding him until the announcer said “Game” dancing in their heads, sneering and snarling at him and calling him stuff, and he simply smiled and threw fireballs and contained the rage until a single opponent was in his sights, and then boom.  Master Hand had opted to play some AC/DC over the loudspeakers rather than the usual music, and Luigi was so grateful, as it more than matched his mood.  He comboed his opponents hard, and his combos grew punishing as the words started replaying again and the image of Falco’s malevolent face spitting those reproaches at him came into focus— _Dio_ , he was a force of nature!  That bird—who did he think he was?  Who did they all think they were?  Talking all of this _cazzo_ to him and then a fortnight later giving him those puppy-dog eyes and showering him with compliments and giving this prepared speech about how _sorry_ they were and that it would never happen again and _Dio_ , it just made him so [ _bleep_ ]-ing sick!  A day or a week or a month would pass, and then they’d be right back at it!  But, hey—wasn’t that the m.o. for most abusers in this world?!

              Once the septet accompanying Luigi on Big Battlefield had a taste of the down throw combos, he lined them up like bowling pins and propelled himself straight into them, sending them flying every which way.  They were sufficiently sobered and began to take him seriously, which only motivated him to style on them some more.  No matter what they said or did, they’d never be safe from him and his down throw combos.  Never.

              Accompanying Mario and his friends in the first row, Falco was wracked with guilt and regret.  He knew why Luigi was so aggressive today.  It was his fault—all his fault!  He shouldn’t have lost his temper and thrown that hissy-fit yesterday!  If he’d just controlled himself, he wouldn’t have to suffer that look in his bestie’s eyes or the waves of hurt radiating from his body or his harsh and erratic breathing as he translated the hurt into energy in a match.  The avian sat a fair distance away from Mario, yet he felt the little man’s eyes on him.  Mario knew deep in his heart that Falco and Luigi had gotten into it after their match yesterday—that Falco had gotten salty with him.  Yet for his bro’s sake, he was willing to let the matter slide—at least, until their next match-up.

              Falco could barely look either Mario Bro in the eye, instead electing to stare out into the expanse of Big Battlefield, and then at the Value Meal on his lap.  Mario continued to shoot glares in his direction.  He knew what he did.  He knew that he made his Lil’ Bro cry.  He probably said something about his combo game.  Eventually, he’d coax it out of Luigi.  And once he did—there was no place in the Nintendo multiverse where Falco would be safe from Mr. Video Game Himself!

              The audience fell silent as Luigi set up a kill combo on one of his opponents.  The sound of the plumber’s breathing filled Falco’s ears.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  As quietly as he could, the avian rose, Value Meal still in his hand, and slipped out of the stands, Mario’s gaze following him.  The man in red knew that Falco was gonna face the music for whatever he said yesterday.  Eventually.

              And as Falco retreated down the corridor of the Smash Mansion, he still felt pursued by Mario’s eyes, by Luigi’s eyes and by the eyes of their friends and fans.  There was no place where he could hide from their eyes.

              Eventually, he sought refuge in his room, closing and locking the door behind him, and turned his TV to SportsCenter in a weak bid to distract himself, ultimately dozing into a dreamless sleep.

**1.1.1**

              Luigi stood in the shower, slowly calming down.  Neither of his opponents had offered a handshake, what a freaking surprise.  They went straightaway to MH’s office to cry a river about his down throw combos.  Sheesh!  Why didn’t they just [ _bleep_ ]-ing practice for once?!  Secretly, Luigi had followed them and listen to each of them say their piece, and it was all he could do not to dissolve into tears.  This time was different than the other times, because this time, he heard Falco’s voice, as well, mocking him.  He’d forgiven the avian, yes, but he couldn’t forget.  He just couldn’t.

              He breathed shakily and set about lathering his body with his favorite body wash, scrubbing away the grit, the blood and the sweat. Scrubbing the words which clung to his skin.  The shower spray masked his silent tears as he scrubbed himself clean.  Then, on his second lather, he took deep breaths to pull himself together and began rubbing his sponge with slow, therapeutic motions.  He focused on how good this lather made him feel.  His eyes closed.  His mouth opened.  His head fell back.  And he moaned languidly.  Then, he took some shampoo to lather up his brown locks, getting as deeply into his scalp as he could.  Sometime after his third or fourth lather, he stood right in the middle of the spray and rinsed everything off, the dirty soap and the dry, dead hair.  And once that ugliness had swirled down the drain, he turned the temperature as low as he could tolerate, braced himself against the shower wall, and let the pour rejuvenate him, eyes closed, gasping and sighing.

              Now, he felt better.  He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.  In his bedroom, he dried himself off and dressed in fresh clothes.  He was ready to continue his day.

**1.1.1**

              After dinner, Marth bade his friends and Roy good night before creeping over to Falco’s room.

              He tapped on the door.

              “Yeah?” asked Falco’s voice.

              “May I come in?” asked Marth.

              “Sure.”

              Marth entered the room and greeted Falco with a broad smile.  “Don’t be mad,” he said.  “It’s just that you seemed so bummed out that I had to bring you some treats.”  He held up the plastic bag he was carrying.

              Falco could smell the intense aroma of Chinese takeout.  “Very kind of you,” he told the bluenette.

              “I’ve got some chow mein, some fried rice—a little sake,” said Marth.

              “You always know how to make me smile,” said Falco.

              Soon, the two Melee veterans were situated at Falco’s table, sharing the takeout and sake.

              “Look, man—I know how you feel,” Marth said consolingly.

              Falco arched an eyebrow.  “Yeah?  I reckon you and Roy have had your fair share of lover’s quarrels, and you’ve made up because you love each other.  But you still feel kinda guilty for making him upset, am I right?  And I bet he feels the same, too.”

              “That is true.  It hasn’t been exactly smooth sailing for me and Roy.  But—I’m actually talking about those down throw combos.”

              “Oh?”

              “Falco—I know what it’s like, being stuck in one combo after another with no way to escape, and I understand how frustrating that is.  I just want you to know—you’re not alone.”

              “Oh, come on, Marth—not this again,” groaned Falco.  “If you have advice on how to regain a friend’s trust, by all means, share it.  But if we’re going to talk about _that_ …”

              “You have every right to be frustrated, Falco,” said Marth.  “I’m frustrated, too.  Roy is frustrated, as well as Mewtwo, Kuro, Kyle—the Chrom look-alike I told you about earlier—and they are just a few.”

              “The way I handled it was wrong,” said Falco.  “You should’ve seen the look on his face after I lashed out.  It was only for a second, but…”  He sighed.  “It haunts my dreams in the dead of night.”

              “But you said what many others didn’t have the courage to say,” beamed Marth.  “I’m proud of you, Falco, for finally standing up and being honest.  It was harsh, yes, but it was the truth.”

              “You shouldn’t be proud,” mused Falco, sipping his sake.  “I almost ruined a 14-year friendship over that down throw.  What I need is a sparring buddy.  Would you be open to that?”

              “I offer you something better,” winked Marth.  “I know some people—important, powerful people—who share your—er— _sentiments_ —regarding Luigi.”

              The Altean prince had the avian’s interest.  “Really?”

              “There’s a big forum on Miiverse about it,” Marth went on, “and if you wanna look even deeper, there’s an entire website dedicated to the eradication of those combos.  Just say the word, Falco, and I’ll hook you up.”

              Falco shook his head furiously, as if clearing his mind.  “Marth, I get that you mean well, but—I can’t do that to Luigi again.  We just made up.  Thanks, though.”

              “But haven’t you had enough of being victimized by those combos?”

              “I hate those down throw combos,” huffed Falco.  “Believe me, I do.”  His voice softened.  “I just—don’t hate Luigi.”

              “That’s okay—I like Luigi, too!” Marth assured him.  “Roy, the other guys and I—we love Luigi, if you can believe that.  We love him enough to tell him the truth.”

              “Right now, I need to focus on getting my friendship with him back on track,” said Falco, “but I’ll think about it, all right?”

              “All right,” agreed Marth.  He scribbled something on a Post-It note and slid it over to Falco.  “Keep this, in case you change your mind.”

              The avian took the slip, and his eyes widened.

              Marth had given them the URLs for the Miiverse forum and the website he was talking about!

              Now he was _really_ interested…

    


	7. T Minus 25 Days

              If you were up against Luigi in a given bout, and he really, really liked you, then he was likely to go a little easy on you.  And the keyword here is _a little easy_.  He didn’t want to go too soft on his opponents, because he wanted anyone and everyone watching to know that he was to be taken seriously.  But maybe, just maybe, he try a bit harder to follow battlefield decorum and apply as little force as possible behind his blows.  Some say that he’d swap out his white gloves for slightly softer ones which would cushion his attacks.  But he’d still give it his all, he’d still break a sweat, and he’d still try to get you in a combo as much as possible.

              Now, let’s say you were Luigi’s opponent and he really liked you.  Not really, really—but just really.  He would wear his usual gloves, but he’d still take care not to hurt you.  Historically, he was kind and gentle and a bit of a pacifist, and he’d get physical only as a last resort.  But you must remember that memories of past words and actions would burn in him as he battled you.  You’d see it in his eyes and in his animated facial expression.  He wouldn’t hold back as much as against those in the “really, really liked” category, and his blows would be a smidge more forceful.  The chances of you winding up in a down-throw combo would increase slightly.

              If you were a person Luigi simply _liked_ , and you were facing him on the battlefield, then maybe your friendship with him had its low points, and he was thinking about said low points as he engaged you.  There would still be restraint, but not as much.  And you were fair game for his limitless combo options.  His eyes would flash more.  His breathing was noticeably more aggressive compared to the “really liked” and “really, really liked” category.  Maybe you were new to Smash, and he was still trying you out like new clothes.  Or the two of you were fresh from an argument, in which he’d forgiven you but not really, and he was letting his fists say what his words couldn’t.  Whatever the reason, you’d feel his attacks after the match almost overnight, and he’d put some more emphasis on giving it his all.

              If you were someone Luigi _kinda_ liked, and the two of you were on the battlefield, then see the above paragraph, with some addendums.  The two of you sorta hit it off, but you weren’t quite friends yet.  It would still be a while before you started to grow on him, or maybe you wouldn’t grow on him at all.  During a match, he’d watch to see how you’d respond to him—if you’d mock, jeer or laugh at him, if you’d get salty over his combos or if you’d rub a victory over him in his face.  The restraint and force behind his blows would be almost half-and-half, but there would still be more restraint than force.  That didn’t mean that you wouldn’t feel his blows—you’d feel his might well into the next morning. 

              If Luigi was pitted against a Smasher he neither liked nor disliked, there would be equal parts restraint and force behind his attacks.  He’d be friends with this Smasher if not for one distinct quality in their personality which bugged, annoyed or outright agitated him, and this was the quality he’d ponder over in the heat of battle.  Or, someone he felt neutrally toward would be his enemy if not for a key positive component of their personality, a quality which would make him exercise some restraint.  Smashers on the “neutral” list more often than not found themselves chewed up and spit out by those rad combos, but they didn’t get salty over it.  Perhaps it was karmic retribution for the way they’d treated him in the past.  Same as with the “liked”, “really liked” and “really, really liked” group.  These three groups considered it a rite of passage to be in one of Luigi’s combos, especially newcomers to Smash who admired the man in green.  You should hear them squealing to their parents and/or relatives about being caught in their first down-throw combo.  Those in the “neutral” group also considered the man in green styling on them a great honor.  He’d eye them with distinct determination and intensity from the word “Go” to the word “Game”.

              Here’s where things get interesting.

              Say Luigi was fighting someone he mildly disliked.  He didn’t hate them, but there was something about the opponent which he found unsettling.  The opponent in question showed bad sportsmanship, perhaps?  Or were they a bad teammate who expected the other teammate to do all the hard word and then lay the blame on said teammate if they lost?  Maybe because of a disrespectful or bad attitude in general?  The reason for this mild dislike wasn’t personal, but he’d take this match as an opportunity to show them that he wasn’t anyone for them to push around.  If they worked hard enough, maybe they’d win him over as a friend.  For some in the “disliked” category, this would be easy, and for others—not so much.  The man in green would start to let his restraint slacken at this point—perhaps leave some bruises on the opponent, bruises which would fade the next day.  He’d give it his all, and maybe more, to get his point across.  I could name several instances in which an opponent who initially thought low of him saw the light after just one match, most notably a certain tireless wanderer in a white _gi_.  But I digress.

              But if you were someone Luigi _hated_ , and you were at his mercy on the battlefield—well, there would be little of it to be found.  Hate was a strong emotion, especially for this kind-hearted plumber, so you had do so something serious to make him feel so strongly towards you.  Usually, this offense involved a certain red-capped hero, a green dinosaur, a tomboyish Flower Princess, a peachy Mushroom Princess or another of his close friends.  Or you laughed at him, called him names and said he was a loser or a nobody, or ceaselessly reminded him that he was Player Two.  He would exercise very little restraint, and he’d look at you with white-hot fire in his eyes as the two of you exchanged attacks.  People in this category were normally salty over his combo-rich down-throw, but this saltiness got them nowhere—except trapped in more down throw combos.  The saltier the opponent, the more aggressive these combos would be.  Oh, the irony.

              And don’t get me started on the people Luigi completely despised, his sworn enemies.  These were the ones who enjoyed making him suffer.  So, in turn, Luigi made _them_ suffer on the battlefield.  He’d combo them till he ran out of breath, and then he’d set up more combos.  There would be bruises—nasty bruises which took weeks to heal—and blood.  And sweat, on Luigi’s part.  He’d exercise the bare minimum of restraint to avoid disqualification or God forbid, harsher discipline from Master Hand.  He’d take harsh blows from heavier opponents and still get up.  The more those on Luigi’s bad side called him weak, the harder he fought them.  Irony, eat your heart out.

              Want some more irony?  Okay.  People in the “mildly disliked”, “hated” and “completely despised” group found time to wail and complain to Master Hand about Luigi’s combo game and talk all of this [ _bleep_ ] about his down throw—until the tables turned, and they found themselves teamed with him in doubles, at which point they were in dire need of his combos and strategy to win.  And being the nice person he was, Luigi would work with his teammate, regardless of how he felt about them personally, because he was a great team player and took teamwork extremely seriously.  Said teammate, if they were on Luigi’s “hated” or “completely despised” list, would thank him by reminding him that they didn’t like being teamed with him, blaming him if the team lost and taking the full credit if the team won, despite Luigi doing most of the fighting while the teammate preened and showed off and talked trash.  Well, Luigi was used to not getting any credit, but it would still increase his raw feelings toward the teammate.  He’d get even with a 1v1, anyway.

              People in these groups could change frequently.  Those who mildly annoyed Luigi could eventually become his friends, if they put forth enough effort or if they really cared.  He could wind up in quarrels with even his closest friends and be agitated with them for a while until fences were mended.  Sometimes, there would be huge falling-out’s, in which reconciliation would take hard work, commitment and sacrifice.  And sometimes, a friend would commit an offense so egregious that it would mean no coming back.  A betrayal, for instance.

              Especially when it came to that down throw.

**1.1.1**

              It had been forty-eight hours since that heated exchange in the corridor.  Forty-eight hours since Falco stood there and said those things to Luigi’s face.  Forty-eight hours since Luigi suffered a fierce blow to the heart.  Forty-eight hours—

              And it still hurt.

              Luigi’s eyes blazed each time he looked at the avian.  He was looking forward to a rematch with his so-called “friend”.  He couldn’t wait to see the look on Falco’s face as he realized that he was about to answer for his temper tantrum.  Sure, Falco was still giving him goodies and taking him out to nice places and showering him with compliments and reminders that he was _sorry_ , and Luigi appreciated those gestures, but the fact that the words couldn’t be unsaid made the situation bittersweet.  They would replay, over and over, sending painful spasms through his chest and stomach.  After everything they’ve done together—Subspace—how could Falco say that to him?!  He wasn’t complaining about his combos when the fourth tournament started last year!  What had gotten into that bird?!

              Forty-eight hours later, Luigi spared nothing with his opponents that day.  Spectators were packed in from miles around to watch the man in green tear into this foe and that foe with his amazing combos.  PictoChat 2 was the stage of choice, a catchy, peppy theme playing over the loudspeakers as various scenes were sketched on the white background.  The perfect soundtrack to the unfortunate opponents’ blunders as they rushed into battle with nothing but inflated confidence and/or pure contempt for Luigi, and then losing their heads and making simple mistakes.  The scenery also served to somewhat brighten Luigi’s mood—he smiled broadly at his opponents while catching his breath.

              The simple white backdrop brought the other colors of the fight into crystal focus.  The L’s green shirt, blue coveralls, brown hair, blue eyes and tan, sweat-slicked skin.  The glow of his body as he moved gracefully, dodging counterattacks, dashing, feinting and accentuating his prowess with stylish backflips and cartwheels.  The muscles and tendons in his arm as he reached out and grabbed the opponent, energy and excitement popping all over his face, before Ground-Pounding them into a combo.  The smooth way he’d string his hits together and his fluid transitions from ground to air and back again.  He never seemed to stop, even for a moment, electrified by the cheers from the stands and from the memory of the words.  His tongue, peeking from between his lips and flicking back and forth occasionally, or curling over his upper lip.  His expressiveness, steadily growing more animated, starting with his eyes and brows and spreading to the rest of his face, pinking his cheeks and resulting in a flawless flush.  Shiny and slick, sweat trailing down slowly, leaving little dark paths on his face, neck and forearms once he rolled up his sleeves.  That man in green, tall and lithe and graceful and hot and wired and sweaty and striped like a melon.

              He made it look so effortless, the way he flipped and dipped and danced and dodged and dished out blows and combos.  The spectators would’ve believed it was effortless, too, if the remarkable acoustics of the stage hadn’t brought the sound of his deep, labored breathing to them.  The increasingly aggressive respirations bounced off the plain backdrop and weaved through the air, where the laws of physics worked their magic and distributed the sound waves so that even those in the last row could hear.  The breathing settled into a brisk rhythm and increased the audience’s fascination with the man in green.

              Once again, Falco was seated in the first row, last seat of the leftmost section, as far away from Mario as possible, noshing on a garlic dog, fries and a drink.  Each chew was deliberate, his eyes on the ever-shifting backdrop, averting his gaze whenever Luigi emerged in his line of vision.  But he could see his estranged friend’s heaving chest and the muscles working on his jaw and neck and arms; he could see the fire in his eyes as they laced into an opponent, and he just _knew_ that he was still thinking about the words.  He was transfixed by the sight of his green-clad Brooklyn buddy, yet unable to look at him as the guilt cut deep.  It was as if _he_ was on the simple-looking stage, being soundly thrashed.  He could feel the blistering anger behind each fierce combo.  Eventually, Falco dropped his gaze to his food.

              Fox, sitting behind Mario, noticed this out of the corner of his eye and tapped the man in red on the shoulder.  “Psst,” he said.

              Mario turned.  “Yeah?” he asked, a little distractedly.

              “What’s hitting him?” queried Fox, jerking his head toward Falco.

              The red-clad hero’s face was hard.  With a twinge of fury in his voice, he responded, “Maybe you should ask my bro.”

              “L?  What happened?” Fox gasped.  “Did they get in a fight?”

              “Something like that,” growled Mario.  “He thinks he can hide from me, but I’ll find out.  Eventually…”

              Fox cast his co-pilot another worried look before focusing back on the fight.

              Falco, meanwhile, could look anywhere but at Luigi as much as he wanted—yet he couldn’t escape from Mario.  He felt Jumpman’s eyes searing into him.  No matter how far away from him he sat, he could still feel those blue eyes.  He knew that Mario had either found out about the argument or had sensed something through his brotherly bond with Luigi.  He also knew that a confrontation with Nintendo’s mascot and Smash’s unofficial spokesperson was inevitable.  He just hoped he could explain to the guy that he didn’t mean it—that he let his temper get the best of him, and that it wouldn’t happen again.

              A hush fell over the stands as Luigi launched into a kill combo on an opponent.  Mario could easily forget about his resentment toward Falco while watching his baby bro put the finishing touches on a highly-damaged foe.  He sat there, quietly, silently sending out encouragement, gripping the armrests of his chair to keep him anchored to the earth, watching Luigi give everything he had left to score one last KO.  And this was where Luigi focused every last ounce of ire and hurt on his foe.  He scored more misfires than usual, his fiery uppercut was a tad more powerful, and his Smash attacks and aerials carried more pain.  He could feel Falco’s presence, which was bad news for the long-suffering opponent.  What the heck was he doing here, after so strongly voicing his disapproval of his combos?  The question whirled in his mind and had spurred him to chain off one down throw combo after another, just to spite the avian.  Maybe after a few more matches, the sting would recede, and he’d fully forgive Falco.  But he highly doubted it.

              Look at how he shied away from Mario, too!  Oh, he knew he was gonna get it and was counting the days, the minutes, the seconds till he had to face a protective elder brother’s wrath.  Falco deserved to sweat and shudder for a few days.

              Deftly, Luigi shoved that thought aside and focused back on the one standing across from him.  He’d fantasize about that bird cowering before Mario later.  Besides, he’d dreamed up the perfect kill combo he knew his opponent would just love!

              And as he threw himself into this kill combo, spectators rooting for both parties ate it up, especially a Mii sitting high, high up in the last row.  Their jaw dropped, their eyes bulged out of their head and the grip on their soda nearly went slack as they watched Luigi push his boundaries further and further.  When Luigi finally landed the finishing strike, these words left their lips:

              “J—s C—t, that’s Jason Bourne…”

**1.1.1**

              The vanquished opponents showed lukewarm sportsmanship at the end, shaking Luigi’s proffered hand yet muttering about him under their breaths when they thought he was out of earshot.  At least they didn’t throw their grievances in his face like Falco discourteously did 48 hours ago.  He could handle it.  This type of thing had happened to him for years…

              Luigi hopped into a refreshing shower, lathering himself up four wonderful times, sighing and moaning as he further purged himself of that incident.  He didn’t cry silently like last time; that was a good sign.  One of these days, he was gonna take Falco aside and have a nice chat with him over his little—lament.  He wasn’t gonna yell or scream or get physical—he’d leave that to his big bro.  Maybe he’d think twice about ranting as he had after dealing with _him_!

              After rinsing himself and standing like a fool in the cool pour for several minutes with his eyes closed, Luigi stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel round his waist.  That was so refreshing!  The residual rawness had definitely abated, but it was still there.  Yet eventually, it would recede, and Luigi would be able to talk to Falco again.

              Now dressed in fresh clothes, Luigi headed straight for Mario’s room.  He was ready to tell his big bro what had gone down between him and Falco—and he was gonna enjoy the fireworks!

              Mario heard his bro’s footsteps before they even approached his door.  He opened it, and blue eyes met blue eyes.  Luigi smiled and began the conversation in a casual tone.

              “Hey, Bro….”

**1.1.1**

              Later that night, Marth walked into a sleepy little diner and quickly found the man he was looking for.

              “Vince,” greeted the bluenette as the man in question rose.

              “My liege,” said Vince, kissing Marth’s hand.  “Please, have a seat.  The chefs have prepared a magnificent feast for us.”

              The two sat at the table as a server poured wine for them.

              “What do you have for me?” asked Vince.

              Marth smiled.  “I think we’ve got him.”

              “The bird?” asked Vince.

              “Indeed.  He’s acting like he wants to make things right with Luigi, but—I see it in his eyes.”

              “Mr. Lombardi is a brave soul,” nodded Vince.  “No one before has had the courage to look that man in the eye and say ‘Enough’.”

              “I just wish he did it in public,” murmured Marth.

              “Me, too,” said Vince, “but as the saying goes, we can’t get everything we want.”

              “I waited until things settled down to bring it up,” smiled Marth.  “You should’ve seen the look on his face when I told him of potential allies.  And when I gave him that Post-It note, I sensed a small victory.”

              “Give him time, and he’ll come around,” said Vince.  “After a few matches against Luigi, perhaps.”

              Their feast arrived.  The two men heaped up their plates while continuing their converse.

              “Any news from your end?” asked Marth.

              “We’ve come into contact with several serious tournament players,” announced Vince.  “I won’t say their names, but you’ll recognize them when you meet them at tonight’s meeting.”

              “That’s—wonderful!” gasped Marth.  “We’re finally gaining some power!”

              “Oh, yeah—this is really rich,” smiled Vince, “but just you wait till we have some of the suits from Nintendo on our side—especially Mr. Sakurai himself.  This, Marth, is only the beginning!”

              Marth raised his glass.  “I’ll drink to that,” he said.

**1.1.1**

              In his room, Falco turned the Post-It note over and over in his wings.  He couldn’t get Marth’s words out of his head.  So, he wasn’t the first Smasher to lose his you-know-what over those combos, eh?  There were other people raging internally, eh?  There was a hush-hush operation to—do something—about that down throw, eh?  He _was_ right when he told Luigi that some Smashers were getting fed up with his combos, eh?

              No, no!  What was he thinking?  He couldn’t do that!  Not after they made up!  He was already on thin ice with Mario, too!  If he did _that_ to his baby bro—then he’d be out for blood!  Falco wanted to do the right thing.  He wanted to be friends with Luigi again.  He wanted to prove to both Bros that they could trust him again.  He wanted to redeem himself.

              But—

              This Post-It note in his wing ignited a fire in Falco.  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to—take a peek at the Miiverse forum or browse through that website.  Perhaps once his curiosity was satisfied, the temptation would go away, all would be right with the world, and he and Luigi would be friends again.

              Falco reached over, plucked an apple from a fruit bowl on his dresser, and took a bite.  Then, he slid out of bed, sat down at his laptop and booted it up.

              “Well—here goes…” he muttered as he punched in the URL for the Miiverse forum.

              When the page loaded, Falco couldn’t believe his eyes…

 

 


	8. T Minus 24 Days

              If you didn’t come to Luigi’s matches to boo and jeer at him, then you came for his combos.  His combos were delicious.  His combos were stunning.  His combos were legendary—almost.  His combos were the main course of the meal.  Without those combos, Luigi wouldn’t have improved so much, but of course, he maintained his humility and kept that thought to himself.

              There were those who hated those combos, those who viewed them as a necessary evil and those who loved them.  The ones who favored his combo game wanted to main him.  They wanted to see him in action.  They wanted to _be_ him.  They wanted to show the haters that they could care less about their salt.  Luigi was number one to them, and that would always be the case!

              The guys ate up Luigi’s strength and power and the way his blows sliced unrelentingly into his opponent.  The gals fawned over his grace, his agility, the intense expression on his adorable face and the cute little way his cap jostled, revealing his chocolate brown hair.  The guys clung to the edges of their seats as a misfired Missile soared through the air, while the gals went wild at his sweat-washed form, his masculine grunts of effort and his deep, whooshing respirations.  The guys got a kick out of Luigi flashing a “V” sign or doing the flop, whereas the gals couldn’t get enough of his stylish backflips, his tendency to disrespect and his “Bang-bang!” pose whenever he won.  Both guys and gals hoped to see at least one Weegee Shoryuken or a taunt spike, and if they didn’t—well—that was just the way life went.

              Before a match, Luigi fans young and old would meet Mario and Peach, or one or the other depending on their schedule, at a designated meeting spot.  Together, they would walk to the appointed stage and take their seats, noshing on concessions food until it was time.  The Mushroom Princess and her plumber would rally the Luigi fans, and they’d rally them hard to show the man in green that not everyone was salty over his combo game.  Over time, they’d worked out a system.  When Luigi was fighting defensively, they’d cheer as loudly as they could.  When he was fighting offensively, quiet cheering was the norm.  And when he was engaged in a kill combo, there would be absolute silence, allowing him to concentrate, erupting in a burst of cheering when the opponent’s stock was taken.

              The spectators rooting for Luigi made up a colorful crowd, indeed.  People arrived armed to the teeth with colorful, encouraging signs and pictures of the man in green, either his full profile or just his face.  There would be men, women and children dressed as him, or simply wearing his signature green cap, moustaches drawn in washable markers for the little ones.  Some spectators would wear a green tank top with a big L on it, or would don green wigs or green sparkly makeup.  They’d arrive in plenty of time to snag the perfect seat and chill with Mario and the other spectating Smashers before the excitement.  Get some food in their bellies at the many concession stands.  Hot dogs, burgers, bagels, fries, cheese fries, garlic fries, corndogs, ice cream, shakes, smoothies, sodas, subs, sandwiches, food from the various cultures of the representative universes and “lotsa” spaghetti.  They had plenty of meal deals for every match.  Those who got there early beat the last-minute rush.

              Many of these Luigi fans were into body painting.  Peach, Zelda and Rosalina happily did face-painting for the kids and teens, while the more hardcore body painters assisted each other.  Guys whipped off their shirts and applied blue and green paint like body armor, from their shoulders to their hips.  Gals came in with midriff-baring tops or sports bras and splattered the stuff onto their torsos.  They spelled out messages like GO LUIGI, GO WEEGEE, WEEGEE 4 LIFE or LUIGI NUMBER 1, and they almost always sat in the front row with Mario and Peach.  Personally, Mario didn’t care to much for those covering themselves with paint to express their support for his lil’ bro.  It was a tad overboard in his opinion.  Nonetheless, he welcomed these supporters warmly and even reapplied the paint when it started to peel.

              As soon as the match began, the fans leaped to their feet, shouting, hooting, whistling, cheering, chanting and booing the opponent if it was someone Luigi didn’t like.  Hopping up and down, waving their signs and hungrily watching for that first grab and that first combo.  Mario and Peach leading them in clapping cheers and signaling them when Luigi went on the attack.  The man in red, bouncing and shouting in Italian, clutching Peach’s hand.  His heart nearly stopping each time his brother’s breath hitched.  Eating up Luigi’s movements and his always dynamic facial expression.  Their eyes meeting every so often, unspoken encouragement passing between them.

              There would be times when the bold ladies flashed Luigi as the guys whooped in encouragement.  As the adrenaline got to them, they’d line up in need rows and offer up a sneak peek.  Mario was a bit iffy regarding this, fearing it would distract Luigi.  But it didn’t—he’d blush a little bit and then go focus back on the battle.  They’d also use flashing to ridicule the opponent, and the men would jump in, as well, whipping it out on several occasions.  But more often than not, they’d moon until Peach, Mario or an usher politely asked them not to.

              Luigi’s thoughts on all of this?  Well, he _did_ raise an eyebrow at his fans covering themselves in paint to cheer him on.  He didn’t really expect such a reaction, being the overshadowed one and all.  But when he briefly looked out at those in the stands, painted as if for war, chanting his name and spurring him, he felt warm and squishy inside.  The flashing, though—he could kinda do without.  He wasn’t _that_ desperate for fame and credit.  But the centerpiece was Mario’s presence, in his usual spot, hands cupped around his mouth and exhorting like a die-hard Giants fan.  As long as Mario was there, everything else was all right.

              Besides, he couldn’t judge them when they provided a safeguard against the hate and salt.

**1.1.1**

              As soon as they learned that Luigi would be fighting a certain reptilian villain this afternoon, Luigi’s fans canceled whatever engagement they had planned.  They had to be here for this fight.  They _had_ to!  Carpools to the arena were swiftly organized.  Peach, Zelda, Rosalina, Lucina and Palutena, raided the commissary for face and body paint.  Master Hand knew he expected a full house for the fight and arranged for extra seats as well as a live telecast.  He also set up the viewing theater as an overflow room.  But the spectators knew better than to take Mario’s spot.

              The seats began filling up two hours prior.  Mario and Peach were already waiting for them in the first row.  With a little help from the Smashers present, the face and body painting ritual began.  Folks streamed the hustle and bustle live on social media and took lots of selfies.  Vendors paraded the stand, selling popcorn, peanuts, Cracker Jacks and candy bars.  Warehouse trucks stood by in the parking lot so the concession stands wouldn’t run out of food.

              Today, Falco chose to sit in the second row, nicely concealed behind a huge sign, eating some nachos.  But this time, he was smirking to himself as memories of his little trip to the Miiverse forum revisited him.  Those posts had cooled his fire, all right.  He’d read the posts expressing outrage over being trounced by those Godforsaken combos and chuckled.  Marth was right!  He wasn’t alone at all!  After reading, rereading and liking some posts, the avian felt less guilty over his exchange with Luigi 72 hours ago.  On the contrary, he felt—vindicated.

              Then, he scolded himself to stop thinking of such things.  He’d promised to only look at the forum once, and then be done with it.  His top priority was making things right with Luigi.  Now that he’d seen what he needed to see, reconciliation would be an easy task.  Or so he thought—

              Once again, he felt Mario’s eyes cutting into his soul.  The little man would never understand.  Falco didn’t mean to make Luigi upset!  After all, he was only speaking the truth!  The truth hurt, but even the most painful truth is better to tell than the sweetest lie.  Falco planned to tell Mario that when he came steamrolling over for the inevitable confrontation.  Sheesh, that man in green was such a prima donna!  What kind of hero couldn’t handle the truth?

              Falco wished he could meet the Miiverse users he’d encountered last night in person.  Next time he lost to Luigi, he’d vent to them, rather than take it out on the plumber.  On second thought, maybe he should post about it tonight—no, no!  That will make things worse!  What if Luigi found out?  What if…?

              Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to interact with the forum _just once_ …

              It was almost time for the match.  Drowsy spectators were stirred with a rousing cry from Mario.  The lights of the stage came on, revealing the fiery Norfair as the stage of choice.

              A little Mii wearing Mario’s iconic cap scurried down to him.

              “What is it, Lauren?” asked Mario.

              “Koopa and L just had a bit of an—exchange,” explained Lauren.

              “What did that turtle say to Luigi?” asked Peach.

              Lauren leaned in close and said something only Peach and Mario could hear.  The red-clad plumber bit his lip to contain his rage.

              “Don’t worry,” smiled Peach.  “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

              “He will,” Lauren said perkily.

              Five minutes later, a green Warp Pipe materialized on the stage, and Luigi hopped out.  His eyes scanned the bleachers full to bursting with supporters, a warm, appreciative smile worming onto his lips.  Then, the blue orbs locked onto Mario’s, informing him of what he needed to know about what went down between him and the Koopa King.

              “When he’s finished with that turtle—I’ll cut him apart,” hissed Mario as Peach slid her hand over his.

              Falco dared to look up from his nachos and found Luigi’s eyes directly on him.  The avian couldn’t tear himself away from the slow brewing he saw within those pupils, like a stew in a slow cooker.  Questions, emotions, accusations, challenges.  And on the edges, Falco thought he saw—longing.  Was it?  Was he beginning to move past that exchange?  Judging by his mouth becoming a taut line, the answer was a probable “no”.  Koopa must’ve said something which brought the words back full force.

              Mario followed his brother’s gaze, and the sight of Falco lit a small flame in him.  Look at him, staring at Luigi with those puppy-dog eyes!  His gestures hadn’t helped abort dealing with him.  A fortnight later, he couldn’t get Luigi’s confession out of his mind, confirming his suspicions.  Maybe he’d chat with Master Hand and arrange—something—between him and the avian.  He’d be unable to verbally express himself, anyway, so why not let his fists and fireballs do the talking?

              When Luigi had come to see him last night, Mario already knew.  The younger began the talk in a light, conversational tone, like it was no big deal.  He knew how the elder would react to it.  But in the middle, when Luigi described the exchange and quoted from verbatim what Falco had cruelly spat at him, his veneer had cracked ever so slightly.  He looked flustered, and his voice wavered and caught a few times, but he pulled himself together before the tears could fall.  Mario had even doubled over in physical pain during his brother’s tale.  Fire and venom replaced the fragility as Luigi went on to talk about Falco’s apparent remorse and his petty gestures and gifts and stuff.  Fists clenching, face reddening.  Mario had sat silently and allowed his lil’ bro to vent, and then opened his arms and enfolded him in a hug he knew Luigi desperately needed.  And in his brother’s arms, Luigi dropped his façade and breathed heavily, inhaling his big bro’s scent and silently spilling some tears.  No doubt, he felt better after the talk.  Which begged the question—why didn’t Luigi come to Mario earlier?

              Luigi’s eyes swung back to Mario, cautioning him, sensing the shared rage.  Being angry at Falco wouldn’t help win over Koopa.  Well, maybe it would in L’s case, but not in Jumpman’s.  Right now, he needed his brother’s love.  Falco wasn’t their top priority right now.  Using a covert hand gesture, the green-clad man conveyed this to Mario.  Mario nodded in understanding, the prospect of the upcoming fight quelling his temper.

              Then, Luigi whipped around toward a wall of flames that hadn’t been there before.  From it emerged his opponent, the Koopa King.  Several spectators booed.  Luigi’s response to Koopa’s smirk was stony silence.  Redness sprang over his face and then receded.  He took a few deep breaths to maintain focus.

              “Hey,” said one of the spectators, leaning over to Mario.  “What did he say?”

              “You don’t wanna know,” Mario replied.

              I’ll tell you what Koopa said to Luigi.  It came as a shock, too—after a certain dreamy adventure two years ago, the turtle appeared to have given more respect to the man in green.  Apparently not.  As Luigi departed the Training Room to get ready, Koopa got right in his face and dared him—actually _dared_ him—to try one of his combos on him!  After Luigi assured him that he’d do so, Koopa laughed and laughed, talking about how he looked forward to knocking the smiles from the faces of his fans, Peach and Mario by reducing him to a green, barely recognizable pulp.  Then, he said some more stuff about his down throw combos and how he used them to act big when he really wasn’t, and Luigi’s mind went right back to Falco and the garbage he’d hurled at him that afternoon.  He was _thisclose_ to breaking Koopa’s nose, but decided to save the fire for the bout.  Instead, _he_ got in Koopa’s face and made it quite clear that the big, bad turtle was gonna eat his words by the end of the match.

              As always, Koopa shrugged it off and faced his green-clad foe with swagger and cockiness, laughing at him with beastly green eyes and imagining him on the stage in a pool of his own blood, whimpering.  Those combos wouldn’t save this green ‘stache!  They were nothing!  Nothing!  Everyone treated them like a big deal, but he’d show them.  He’d show them all.

              Master Hand’s voice boomed overhead, announcing the combatants of the match.  The two took their places in the center of the stage, staring levelly at each other.

              “I’ll finish you off within two minutes,” guffawed Koopa.  “Just you wait, Greenie.”

              Luigi didn’t take the bait.  He merely burned his eyes into his larger opponent as he raised his fists.

              3…2…1…GO!

**1.1.1**

              Koopa was woefully mistaken about Luigi’s combos, as the L’s fans were relieved to find out.  Almost from the beginning, he ran afoul of combo after combo, Luigi quickly working himself up as the turtle’s taunting words, Falco’s words and the words of his other haters flashed across his mindscape.  Name-calling, insults.  The hulking beast across from him had made Luigi’s life Hell since Melee, and even before then, starting in 1985.  Well, he didn’t have to take this anymore!  He didn’t go straight into a grab, taking Koopa’s weight and strength into account, and opted for a set-up with fast attacks.  Fireballs, punches, kicks.  Stylish sweeps.  Neat backflips.  Claw swipes, fluidly dodged.  He so wanted to get in, but he had to wait, weaken his foe’s defenses first.  Fire breath, gouts of red fire, cancelled out by green fire weaving lazily through the air.  Luigi dancing and weaving, in and out, just out of Koopa’s reach, his blows sound and strong, his patience sturdy.  Leaps, flying kicks, flip kicks, drill kicks.  A brutal, blinding uppercut and a swift retreat.  Koopa growled and spouted his fire, but Luigi slid aside.  Spun aside.  Then spun round, round, round, like a dreidel.  Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel—we made you out of green.  When Koopa’s nice and ready, then dreidel we shall play.  The turtle wound up sucked in a Cyclone of his own making, a Cyclone of green-painted pain.  The man in green whirled, and whirled and whirled and whirled, outstretched arms like helicopter rotors, slamming into his massive opponent and sending him flying.  Spinning, spinning, spinning—like the arrow of a compass—till he grew too dizzy.  The arrow had pointed him toward his true north, and it was time to start with the combos.

              The first combo was always the best to watch and to perform.  Spectators cheered at that first combo, that first grab, that first down throw.  If you went to a Luigi-involved fight and didn’t get to see a combo, then you considered it a wasted day.  Luckily, the man in green always delivered.  His mood was pretty sharp today, so he’d deliver a little extra.  Before the first grab was the first intake of breath as he reached out.  Gloved fingers closed round rough hide and then pulled Koopa in.  Energy, malevolence and delight were in Luigi’s eyes, his breathing a little brisk.  Both fighters knew what was coming.  Time froze for a split second like a Kodak still, breath from the spectators hanging in the air, and then boom.  The butt slam.  And the combo playing out like an episode of your favorite TV serial.

              F-air, f-air, f-air.  N-air.  U-air.  Re-grab, d-throw, f-air-f-air, u-air, u-air, n-air.  Repeat into a d-air and u-smash.  Fireball, grab, slam, combo.  Jab-lock, grab, slam, jump, down-B.  And if you’re feeling especially bold, up-B.

              Koopa tried to retaliate.  He roared, slashed his claws, punched and spun in his shell.  But Luigi always stood back up after taking these attacks or used his n-air to break out of this offensive.  Fast-fall f-tilt and grab into another combo.

              The spectators rooting for Luigi leaned forward, as if magnetized, clinging to armrests or to each other.  Mario gave the quiet signal as his baby bro retook the offensive and launched into one of his fiercer combos.  His breaths echoed through the cavernous expanse of Norfair, mingling nicely with the ominous-sounding music on the loudspeakers.  This particular track was called “Brinstar Depths”, a fan-favorite since Melee.  It was the perfect music for such a showdown, the bully vs. the pushover, and the pushover was beating the you-know-what out of the bully.

              Eyes sparkling, mouth rounding, Luigi hacked at Koopa harder and harder.  He was breathing in that distinct cadence.  He was not playing around.  He felt his sweat oozing down his neck and tasted it in his mouth.  Lava waterfalls and molten rock made his skin twinkle like a star.  He strung a fast-fall n-air into a Cyclone, his spinning body sliding across the stage.  He caught the tumbling hulk with a u-air, and then another and another and another, and plowed a stunning uppercut into Koopa, taking his stock.

              Mario went crazy, hollering in Italian, as screaming cheers from the other spectators provided a backup chorus.  Clapping chants.  Waving signs and banners.  It was a madhouse, and then it settled down as Koopa re-spawned and Luigi re-focused.

              He took slow, controlled breaths, checking in with his sweaty, bleeding and bruised body.  Taking in the snarling Koopa and the glowing stage behind and around him.  Deciding to fight defensively for a while.  The resulting cheers powering him up.  Fireballs, dodging, shielding and sliding.  People used to make fun of his traction, but he didn’t see anyone laughing now.  Leering at him, Koopa jumped and tried to flatten him from above, but Luigi rolled aside.  Swooped in for quick kicks, jabs and short-hop chops.  Looked into those green eyes and heard the words.  Koopa’s words, Falco’s words, even Falcon’s words from so long ago.  He licked his lips and then grabbed.

              The audience went back into their quiet, anticipated huddle, sharing snacks, whispers and body heat.  Koopa’s body thundered against the floor, and then Luigi’s rapid, mighty hits thudded into him in a controlled beat.  He had no mercy reserved for this overgrown turtle.  This villain was gonna have a bad time.

              He was a body in perpetual motion.  Not once so far had he stopped to catch his breath.  Judging by the combos he was styling, he should be exhausted by now!  And indeed, he was.  His lungs were close to bursting, and there was a dull throbbing in his side.  Everything begged him to take just one open-mouthed breath, but he steadfastly refused.  He wouldn’t let his opponent see that he was wrung out.  He kept his breathing at those short, whistling, whooshing bursts, recycling his oxygen, hammering away at the scaly hide of his foe’s flanks or battering the soft, fleshy and nerve-filled underbelly, grabbing and ground-pounding him like he was weightless.  He looked at the beast’s face and saw no regret over the words he’d spoken—only frustration.  Well, it was a good thing he was frustrated, because it would further invite Luigi’s wrath with his punish game!

              “Grrrr….” Koopa growled.  He was covered in nasty bruises, bleeding and hadn’t even taken a stock yet.  Luigi saw his moves coming from a mile away and lure him into grab after grab.  Each down throw combo was more vicious than the last.  Whenever Koopa thought it was over, Luigi simply started a new one.  Angry breathing echoing in his ears and with the music around the stage.  Livid facial expression leaving little to the imagination.  Massive fists, claws and feet could bring him down, but not for long enough.  Greenie always got up and responded by exerting himself further, defying his long-suffering lungs.  Even after particular blows and body-slam attacks knocked the wind from him, he simply wrapped one arm around his chest and managed to get enough air back in order to retaliate.  He’d flit around, throwing fireballs and generating “ooh’s” from the crowd with his backflips until he could breathe easily again, albeit still rapidly, and then he’d rush back in for a jab-lock and then a grab into another furious combo.

              Mario sat silently and reverently, holding Peach’s hand, heart pounding, breath coming fast.  Nothing pleased him more than watching his baby bro battle his sworn nemesis by himself.  He knew Luigi would be nervous at first, and this had been especially true in Melee.  But that was why he was here, sitting in this spot.  Before the battle, Luigi would meet his eyes and give a quirky wink in reassurance.  And then he’d launch into it at the announcer’s command, leaving mouths agape with his tenacity, combo game, and punish game.  Mario knew what his bro was thinking about.  Their previous battles.  The times when the one in red was hurt by those wretched claws.  Reproaches, spite and insults that had spouted from his mouth like his Fire Breath.  And of course, what they _knew_ had happened to the Princess during her stay “in another castle”, something they chose not to talk about.  How he’d managed it without leaving a mark, they’d never know.

              But most of all, Jumpman would occupy L’s thoughts.  The image of him sitting there, his face aglow, hope in his blue eyes, encouragement on his lips.  The silent message of _I’m counting on you.  I believe in you._   The sensation of his eyes on him, filling him like Heaven’s light.  For him, he would fight his best.  For him, he would try to win.

              “Psst.  Hey,” whispered a voice.

              Mario turned slightly to see a gruff-in-a-lovable-way-looking Mii sitting next to him.  “You want a job?”

              “I already have a job,” smiled Mario, trying to keep his eye on the battle.  “I’m a plumber.”

              “All right,” said the Mii, whose name was Mr. Jameson.  “How much for the camera?”  Mr. Jameson’s eyes swung down toward the small camera in Mario’s overall pocket.

              Mario smiled slyly.  “300 coins.”

              “300 coins?!”  Mr. Jameson barked, but his outrage was cut off by a familiar **_PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!_**   “All right, Mr. Video Game.  300 coins.”

              Mario exchanged his camera for the bag of gold coins and tossed his heavily perspiring brother a wave, which was heartily returned along with a pumped fist and a forceful “Yes!”

              Mr. Jameson raised the camera to snap a photo, but when he pressed the button, he got nothing.  “What the…?”  He whipped his head toward Mario.

              Jumpman smirked.  “Film’s extra,” he explained.

              Mr. Jameson grumbled.

              Meanwhile, Koopa stomped toward Luigi, fuming mad over that stock loss.  He now had only one stock left, while his opponent still had all of his.  The lean, limber body snapped to attention, cold flint on the angular face, dukes up.  The reptilian menace tried to grab Luigi, but failed as the target cartwheeled out of the way and shot off three fireballs in quick succession.  Then, he darted in for a grab of his own.

              “Let me show you how it’s done,” he whispered in Koopa’s ear before butt-slamming him.  He tried to make this combo last as long as he could, striking in places bruised from previous hits, the turtle’s words to him floating back into his memory and dragging Falco’s words with him.  His breath caught for a brief moment, but he aggressively expelled with a Cyclone.  Adrenaline shot back up, and he fixed a quick gaze toward that bird, still visible behind that sign, staring into space and pretending to be uninterested.  Back he whirled toward Koopa, slamming a forward smash into his abdomen, leaping up to meet him with aerial kicks and chops and then a downward kick, and then grabbing and starting again with the combos.  Koopa—he did this on purpose.  Just when Luigi was starting to cool off from the fight, _he_ came in with his trash-talking and brought the exchange right back!  Skillfully stringing one combo into another, seeking to spite them both.  Ridding himself of the last of that tension; it puddled on the floor in the form of his sweat.  A twinkle emerged in his eyes, not missed by anyone.  They knew, along with him, that this was home stretch.  Koopa wasn’t about to win _this_ round!

              Knowing that there was no margin left for error, Luigi focused harder than he’d ever focused before.  He made himself stop thinking about Falco and instead considered how much damage he had to build up on Koopa before landing the last blow.  Analyzing his own body, the bruising, swelling and throbbing.  The blood from the ferocious claw strikes, punches and double-footed dropkicks.  He knew he’d taken some awesome blows despite his strategy and defied the pain by getting up and rejoining the fight.  He was bound to lose a stock soon, and he couldn’t let that happen.  He air-dodged when Koopa DI’d away from his combo and hindered his attempt to take the offensive with a lucky, precise n-air.  He threw fireballs, kicks and short hop b-airs until he had a strong idea of what he was going to do.

              And then he did.  He took several claw swipes, but he still figured it out.  Dancing toward the edge of the stage, covering his supposed retreat with a fast kick or two, he had the ultimate humiliation in mind.  He didn’t even have to waste his breath with a kill combo.  Slight humming arose in the audience as they realized what he was up to.  They clamored and peeped over shoulders for a better look.  Steaming when they saw the glee on Koopa’s face, thinking that Luigi had lost his nerve and was giving up.  But they had to be patient to see the payoff.  Luigi’s face was neutral, but he also saw the gleeful green eyes.  _Well, let him think I’ve surrendered_ , he thought, tossing fireballs, dodging and dealing out the occasional leg sweep attack, leaping free of grab attempts and ignoring the pain when heavy punches and claw strikes managed to connect.  Finally, he reached the ledge.  Seeing his opponent on the ropes, Koopa rushed at him with the Whirling Fortress.  Timing things carefully, Luigi sidestepped, and the big, bad turtle sailed off the stage in freefall.  And then he leaped off after him and mashed into him one last time with his Cyclone move.

              It was all over for the Koopa King.  His opponent watched triumphantly as he plunged into the blast zone.

              “This game’s winner is—Luigi!”

**1.1.1**

              With a mighty roar, Koopa barreled into Master Hand’s office.  “THIS IS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS!”

              “Oh, God,” MH sighed, knowing what was coming.

              “THAT STUPID GREEN STACHE!  THAT GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LOSER!  HE BEAT ME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!” railed Koopa.

              “Okay…” said Master Hand.

              “HIM AND THOSE DUMB COMBOS!  HE THINKS HE’S EVERYTHING BECAUSE HE CAN COMBO PEOPLE TO INFINITY AND BEYOND?!  THANKS TO THEM, HE HUMILIATED ME!”  Koopa flipped a desk and sent a paperweight flying across the room.

              “Koopa, get it together or I will ask you to leave,” commanded MH.

              “OH, YEAH?  YOU AND WHAT ARMY?  YOU’RE JUST GONNA SIT ON YOUR [ _BLEEP_ ] AND LET THAT GREEN PIECE OF [ _BLEEP_ ] DO THIS?!  I AM THE KING OF KOOPAS!  I RULE SUPREME OVER ALL!  I WAS SUPPOSED TO COME OUT ON TOP!  I WOULD’VE SQUASHED GREENIE LIKE A BUG IF IT WEREN’T FOR THOSE COMBOS!  THOSE F-ING COMBOS!  THEY MAKE ME SICK!”  Koopa slammed more stuff around.  “SO, THIS IS WHAT IT HAS COME TO--ME HAVING MY TAIL HANDED TO ME BY AN INSIGNIFICANT NOBODY!  EVERYONE IS AGAINST ME, EVEN THIS STUPID TOURNAMENT!  YOU PEOPLE ARE JUST A BUNCH OF CONTEMPTIBLE, OBNOXIOUS TROLLS!”

              “I cannot allow you to insult the people in and behind this tournament!” MH said sternly.

              “YOU PEOPLE ARE TROLLS, INSECTS AND IDIOTS!” fumed Koopa.

              “Koopa, this is outrageous!”

              “I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE P-ED!  I WAS SUBJECTED TO DEFEAT BY THE SCUM OF THE NINTENDO UNIVERSE!”  He snatched a handful of pens and pencils and threw them to the floor.  “GOD—MIT!  ALL I WANT IS TOTAL DOMINION OF THE UNIVERSE!  ALL I WANT IS A LOVELY PRINCESS TO CALL MY OWN!  ALL I WANT IS TO BE MASTER OF ALL THAT CRAWLS UPON THE EARTH AND SWIMS IN THE SEA!  BUT INSTEAD, I’M STUCK WITH A BUNCH OF MINDLESS, SPINELESS RETARDS!  FOR YEARS, THOSE GOD—N PLUMBERS HAVE HINDERED MY PLANS!  THEY’VE PUT EVERY KIND OF OBSTACLE IN MY WAY!  WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE—WAS GO BACK IN TIME AND KILL THEM WHEN THEY WERE DEFENSELESS, LIKE THEY DO IN THE MOVIES!”

              MH blinked.  “Are you done?” he asked calmly.

              “I never went to a military academy,” Koopa sighed in a lower voice.  “Yet I am a master of warfare and have millions of armies at my command.  Infantry!  Foot soldiers!  Artillery!  Airships!  I have those puny Toads screaming in fear!  And yet I’m bested by a green bean?!  For [ _bleep_ ]’s sake—he’s scared of his own shadow—he _is_ a shadow!  What purpose does he serve in this tournament?!  I don’t know where he got those combos from—but I want you to send them back there, or I’ll do so myself!”

              “I’ll look into it,” MH said flatly.  “All right?  In the meantime, there are a lot of Smashers you can practice with.”

              “Uh—thanks, I guess,” muttered Koopa as he lumbered out of the office without bothering to clean his mess up.

**1.1.1**

              Luigi knelt at his usual place outside MH’s office, drinking up every word of the Koopa King.  Yeah, like MH was gonna change things just because you were upset.  Peering through a crack in the door, he passively observed his and Mario’s archenemy turning into an oversized three-year-old just because he couldn’t escape the plumber’s combos, decrying both him and Mario for thwarting his schemes and carrying on about how he wanted to rule the world and have Peach for himself.  Luigi didn’t know if he wanted to laugh out loud or weep.

              _Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?  How about I get someone to play a sad song for you on the world’s tiniest violin?  You’d like that, wouldn’t you?_

              Luigi was getting sick and tired of this.  Why was it that the first thing they did was rant to Master Hand?  What did they expect him to do?  Give them a lollipop?  That was what he sometimes did, actually.  The man in green recalled seeing complainants walking out of the office, sucking on a Tootsie Roll pop like a pacifier.  Smh.  Big babies!  Listening to Koopa fulminate on and on, Luigi wanted nothing more than to barge in there, grab the villain by his tail and swing him round till he puked, and then hurl him out the window.  He kinda felt bad that he didn’t get to do what he and Mario called “The 64 Throw” on Koopa.  Oh, well.  Maybe next time…

              In another part of the corridor, Falco also listened in.  Man, Koopa’s lamentation got him right in the feels.  He knew what it was like.  Vying for the offensive position just to get in a grab.  Trying to take advantage of Luigi’s poor approach just to get in a grab.  Being read like a magazine each time you tried to DI.  Karate chops, kicks and other blows peppering your body.  The set-ups and re-grabs.  The jank and disrespect.  The way the audience enjoyed your suffering.  Falco had experienced it all.

              Then he saw Luigi kneeling by the door, looking tense.  Koopa’s words were really hurting him.  That turtle had put him through countless torment for thirty years solid.  And besides, he was still trying to make things right with the plumber.  Quietly, Falco tiptoed over and knelt beside Luigi, peering through an adjacent crack in the door.  Koopa stomped around, threw things, roared and cursed out the Mario Bros.  MH listened impassively.  Peering at Luigi, the avian saw him wrestling with his face.  One moment, it looked as if he was fighting tears, and the next, fighting laughter.  Falco looked back at Koopa, feeling his pain and frustration.  Maybe they’d cross paths on the Miiverse forum, and Luigi wouldn’t have to find out.

              Luigi sensed Falco’s presence.  A weight hung.  Neither could make eye contact.

              It was Falco who spoke first.  “He’s really chewing you out, huh?”

              “Yeah,” said Luigi.  “I’m used to it.”

              “Don’t listen to any of that crap,” said Falco.  “He’s just trying to break you down.”

              “I know.”

              “You did a great job out there, and you kicked [ _bleep_ ].  Mario and Peach won’t stop gushing about it.  You’re the best, L.”

              “Thanks.”

              “How—how long has this been going on?” asked Falco.  “The conniptions in MH’s office?”

              “Since—this summer,” replied Luigi, “and I thought you knew about it already, Falco.”

              “Well—kinda…”  Falco sighed.  “Why do you torture yourself by listening to this?”

              “Because it amuses me to see them make complete [ _bleeps_ ] of themselves.  I half-expected _you_ to come running to him about this.  You’re the first one who ever directed this [ _bleep_ ] straight at me.  Congratulations—maybe you’ll set a new precedent.”

              “It was wrong for me to snap at you like that,” nodded Falco.  “I’m sorry.”

              “Yes, I know that you’re sorry, and I know that you feel badly.  But try as I might—I can’t forget it!  You, one of my best friends, saying that to me!”

              “You have every right to hate me, L,” Falco said shamefully.  “I made a mistake, and I’ve spent the last few nights wishing I could take it back.”

              “Well—the good thing is—you admitted what you did and acknowledged that it was wrong.  But the fact remains that your words were cruel and sadistic, and they made me worry about what might happen to my combo game in the future.  I mean, what if it comes to pass that they nerf me?  Before this match, Koopa had some harsh words for me, and in his words, I heard yours.  Same as with the others.”

              “I’m not like the others,” argued Falco.  “I’m different.  I’m your buddy.”

              “No,” Luigi broke in.  “That afternoon, you were _not_ my buddy.  You were _not_ my friend.”  The avian saw that look in his estranged pal’s eyes and saw the hands clenching into fists.  Pointing a finger at Falco’s beak, he continued.  “That afternoon, you were a salty, obnoxious, disrespectful sore loser!  You were frustrated, and rather than try to look for improvement, you chose to project your frustration onto me!  Like it was _my_ fault you lost!  You definitely sounded like the others, and you d—n well know it!”

              “Luigi…”

              “God—mit, Falco, you hurt me!" Luigi snapped.  "You tore me down!  And nothing you say or do will ever reverse the damage, don’t you get it?!”

              “Please—just let me try,” implored Falco, reaching for Luigi.

              Luigi jerked away.  “Don’t you touch me!” he barked.  In a softer voice, he said, “Please, don’t touch me.  I just—I can’t—I can’t talk to you right now.”  He stood up and stalked away.

              Exasperated, Falco face-winged.  “Oh, [ _bleep_ ] you, Luigi…”

**1.1.1**

              _Who in the Inferno does he think he is?_ Luigi thought later as he vehemently attacked the Sandbags in the Training Room.  _Waltzing over and acting all sugary, like he feels sorry for me?  There’s no question that he wanted to rant to MH himself._   His favorite tunes were on, and combined with the physical exertion, it helped him think.  His mind was everywhere.  He wanted to trust Falco again, but he didn’t think he could.  What would happen if he jumped back in?  Would he be hurt a second time?  Could he afford to let the avian back in—was it worth it to give their friendship another try?  If Falco hurt him again, would it be worse than last time?  He remembered bonding with Falco as they stood in line to check in for the Melee tournament, how Falco took him for rides on his Arwing and did barrel rolls as the plumber shrieked and held on tight.  And then he remembered the battle on Smashville, Falco’s wing slashes, fast, fierce kicks and his beak drill attack, his lasers and Reflector.  The resentment peeking in his eyes as his tactics fell to the down throw combos, resentment which exploded full force outside the Reception Area.  Falco sitting there in the fancy restaurant, his heart on his wing as he apologized, and the plumber had studied Falco’s face and wanted to act like it never happened—but it happened, and it wasn’t something he could easily let go.

              How long had Falco lurked outside, anyway?  Was he also listening in on Koopa?  Had he savored every word spewing from that kidnapper’s mouth?  Had he struck up that conversation with him to cover his tracks?  When Falco said those words, he sure wasn’t speaking in jest.  He said he didn’t mean it afterward, but maybe he did.  Maybe he did—

              He exhaled, lighting into some more Sandbags.  It would be great just to pound and sweat it out and not think at all.  Then, he’d examine the situation with fresh eyes and decide what to do next.

**1.1.1**

              Meanwhile, Falco didn’t seem conflicted over his next move as he chased down the still-fuming Koopa.  “Hey!” he called.  “Hey!”

              Koopa stopped.  “What do you want, birdie?” he huffed.

              Despite Koopa’s tone, Falco laid a wing on his forearm.  “I just wanna say—I’m sorry.”

              “Pfft—I don’t need your pity.”

              “Good, because I’m not pitying you.”  A cocky grin spread on Falco’s face.  “Actually, I’m here to give you a little sounding board.”

              “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but you have no idea how I’m feeling right now.”

              “Actually, I do.”

              Koopa blinked.  “R-really?”

              “Totally!” laughed Falco.  “Trust me, I’ve been there!  The pain, the anger, the resentment, the frustration—I know what it feels like!  That plumber has you in a nightmare, and for the life of you, you can’t escape!”

              “For this entire tournament, he’s had those combos, and they’re making me sick!” fumed Koopa.  “Who told Master Hand he deserves them?”

              “Yeah!” Falco chimed in.  “I know you’re frustrated.  _I’m_ frustrated!  I mean, _come on_!  Luigi has humiliated me over and over with his [ _bleep_ ]-ing combos!  I’ve seen people I’ve idolized have their win-loss records suffer because of him!”

              “You know what I think?” offered Koopa.  “Greenie is uppity and doesn’t realize his year is over.  He needs to get his [ _bleep_ ] back to the Player Two slot.  Now, if there was just a way to send him back there…”

              “If only…” Falco stroked his chin.

              “Wait a minute!” Koopa exclaimed.  “I heard that you ripped him a new one three days ago!  Well done you!”

              “It’s not something to be proud of, but thanks,” Falco said softly.  He gasped as something came to him.  “The Miiverse forum—I browsed it and saw some of your posts!  You big turtle!  The answer is staring you right in the face!”

              “I was being facetious,” grinned Koopa, “and wait till you see the website the Bennigan Brothers set up.”

              “The—who?  Website?  I’ve heard of the website, but I know nothing of these Bennigan characters.”

              “Log onto the chat room tonight,” said Koopa.  “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

              “Bennigan…” Falco trailed off.  “There was a Stuart Bennigan in the tournament, but he got kicked out for misconduct.  Is this his family out for revenge?”

              Koopa smiled, feeling better.  “Believe me—they’ve had it in for Luigi well before then.”  He playfully ruffled the crown of feathers on Falco’s head.  “See ya round.”

              On those words, he lumbered off, hoping to get in a quick game of grab-n-go with the Princess before his online chat with Falco.

**1.1.1**

              After dinner that night, Falco and Fox stood outside the hallway, preparing to turn in for the night.

              “See ya tomorrow, Fox,” said Falco.  “Sleep tight.”

              “You, too,” nodded Fox.  “Hey…”

              “Yeah?”

              “Can we talk?  You’ve been acting odd lately,” said Fox.

              “A friend and I are recovering from a fight,” explained Falco.  “He’s still kinda sore at me.”

              “L will forgive you when he’s ready,” Fox said softly.

              “How did you know…?”

              “Saw you guys exchanging words.  Figured you were upset that you lost to him.  Just—give him some space, okay?”

              Falco smiled slowly.  “Thanks, Fox.”

              They parted ways, and as soon as Falco was in his room, he locked the door, drew his shades and logged onto Miiverse.  He clicked on the link taking him to the forum and entered the chat room.

**SpaceAce: Hi.  Here.**

              While he waited for a response, Falco slipped into the kitchen and snagged his own personal stash of bread, marked by a Post-It note bearing the message FALCO’S BREAD, HANDS OFF.  He quickly heated it up in the microwave, took a stick of butter and hastened back to his room.

              Koopa was online and had replied to the message.

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Hey, Falco.  Glad u accepted my invitation.**

              Falco set his snacks down, and soon, his wings were flying across the keyboard.

**SpaceAce: Ok, Koopa.  Time to spill.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: I know u want answers, so I’ll get straight 2 the point.  I met the Bennigan Brothers quite some time ago, and when I told them about my situation with Green Stache, they were more than happy to help.**

**SpaceAce: Yeah?  How?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: You see, they weren’t happy to see Greenie trying to break out of the Player Two role.  They wanted to keep him there, to remind him that he’ll always be nothing.  Quite frankly, so did I.**

**SpaceAce: And they’d do anything to accomplish that end.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Exactly.  First, they sent Stuart to make Green Stache miserable.  Unfortunately, he was found out and got the boot.  But that didn’t stop his brothers.  Their names are Vincent, Manny and Shane.**

**SpaceAce: How long has this been in the works?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Well before you let Green Bean have it.  I’m telling you, you’re not alone.  Stick with me, and you’ll find people who can help you.**

**SpaceAce: That’s what another close friend of mine said.  I just didn’t entirely believe him.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: We were up in arms over that down throw from the very moment we saw it executed.  However, our voices were drowned out—until now.  The Bennigan Brothers have created a website exclusively for hating on our green friend.  And on that website is a particular page which will spark your interest.**

              Koopa sent Falco the link, and the avian clicked on it to reveal:

**SpaceAce: OMG.  Project Nerf?  WTF is Project Nerf?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: War.  And those combos are the enemy.**

**SpaceAce: Ah, I see.  The Bennigan Bros have launched a campaign to get Luigi’s down throw nerfed.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Bingo.  I joined in shortly after its inception late last month.  All we have to do is get Master Hand’s attention about that down throw, and then he’ll take care of it for us.  Perhaps—we’ll get the attention of someone higher up on the food chain.**

**SpaceAce: You mean…?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Uh-huh.  Mr. Sakurai himself.  He shouldn’t be hard to sway, since he doesn’t care much for Luigi himself.**

**SpaceAce: Wow.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Look around that website for a bit.  See what you find.**

Falco clicked on the home page and viewed the bios of the administrators.  His beak flew open when he saw Roy and Marth on that list, along with Koopa, some guy named Kyle, Mewtwo and Dark Pit.  Good God!  Potential shoulders to lean on were right under his nose, and he had no idea!  The next time he lost to Luigi, he knew just who to turn to!  Maybe they’d spend hours commiserating about it at Hot Topic or Chuck-E-Cheese’s.  After perusing through the admins, he next browsed the discussion forums covering various things they hated about Luigi, the chat rooms, where to find them on social media, played some fun games and even stopped by the online store to view some swag.  Finally, he watched some videos, where he got to see what the Bennigan Bros looked like.  He felt like bursting for joy when the three men led others in voicing their frustration over the down throw combos.  The guilt inside his gut lessened and lessened.  He’d done the right thing by telling Luigi the truth.  He just hoped he’d accept it.

**SpaceAce: This is amazing!  I don’t believe it!!**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Didn’t I tell ya?**

**SpaceAce: Why didn’t I find out about this sooner?  I wouldn’t have had to deal with that plumber’s combo game!** **☹**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: If you’ll have me, it doesn’t cost a thing to join.  And you can participate in the discussions and chats and upload videos the same day you join, free of hassle!  Whaddaya say?**

**SpaceAce: Sounds like fun, but—I need time 2 think about it.  K?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Sure, sure.  Whenever you’re ready, just say the word, and I’ll hook you up with the BBs.**

**SpaceAce: Gr8.  Thx!**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: No prob.  Gtg—those pesky plumbers are coming!**

**SpaceAce: OMFG.  Don’t tell me…** **☹**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Why not?  It cheered me up. (: <**

**SpaceAce: ._.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: K bye**

**SpaceAce: Bye**

**_KoopaWantsAPeach has left the chat._ **

              “Incredible,” uttered Falco, snacking on his bread.  “Abso-[ _bleep_ ]-in’-lutely incredible.”  It had to be divine intervention which brought Falco to this website.  The terrible things he’d said that afternoon now held some merit, and he’d easily move past the guilt, whether Luigi forgave him or not.  Good times ahead, indeed.

**_HeroKing has joined the chat._ **

**HeroKing: Somehow I knew you couldn’t resist.**

**SpaceAce: Yeah, you’re right.  I guess I’m not alone after all.**

**HeroKing: Thoughts?**

**SpaceAce: What can I say?  I’m finally starting to feel better.  Thanks, friend.**

**HeroKing: That’s what best buds r for.  Get some rest.**

**SpaceAce: Definitely, and it’ll be the best sleep I’ve had in 72 hours.  Nite-nite!**

**HeroKing: Nite-nite!**

              Falco closed his laptop, finished off his bread and butter, changed into his PJ’s, climbed into bed and switched on the TV.  It didn’t take long for him to fall into a contented sleep.

              And in Marth’s room, the Altean prince sent a simple message to Shane Bennigan: **We’ve got him.**


	9. T Minus 23 Days

In Smash, Luigi had a ton of weapons in his arsenal.  Fireballs, high jumps, swiftness, devastating attack power—and of course, his combos.  He’d mostly rely on his combos to rack up damage, and then finish off the opponent with a smash attack, a Misfire or a fiery uppercut.  Or, he’d take a stock with a b-air or back throw (nicknamed the 64 Throw).  Fans and spectators alike were amazed by this transformation from last on the tier list to a fighting, combo machine.  Luigi considered his combos especially sacred and always found time to practice them in the Training Room.  And when he wasn’t practicing old ones for hours each day, then he was trying to create new ones.

              But there were times when he _didn’t_ need those combos to win.  Heck, sometimes he didn’t have to do _anything_.

              And it angered some opponents all the same.

              If there was anything better than watching Luigi do his combos, then it was watching him win by doing absolutely nothing!  The running joke here was that Luigi was so fearsome these days that it threw his foes into confusion, resulting in them self-destructing.  Even _he_ had no idea he possessed such power!  Once he got used to it, he taught himself how to use this power wisely.  If he decided that a given opponent wasn’t worth wasting his breath with a combo, he’d stand and wait for them to make a stupid mistake.  Usually, Luigi would employ this technique in a one-stock match.

              His fans could sense when he was going to try to win by doing absolutely nothing.  If that was the case, then they probably wouldn’t be sitting in the stands for long.  The usual hoopla was toned way down, and the concessions weren’t as crowded as usual.  Out-of-town fans elected to watch the match on TV, rather than make the trip to see Luigi’s pacifism beat an opponent in under a minute.  And those new to the game saw the look in Mario’s eye as he greeted them, and they knew that something about this match would be different.

              Today, Luigi was in sort of a passive-aggressive mood.  What better time to do something which made him famous long before his down throw combos showed up?  The first time he won without doing anything was against Falcon, when the racer’s overconfidence led to four consecutive self-destructs.  That incident was a revelation—he could use foes’ contemptuous attitudes to his advantage, and he didn’t even have to lay a finger on them!  Nowadays, there were other methods he could win by doing absolutely nothing—he could give them looks which sent dread into their hearts, he could take copious attacks with a big smile, or he could trick them into walking into explosives.  Or, his passive-aggressive stance would confuse the other fighter, and he could simply settle back and enjoy the show.  He loved watching them fall to their own blunders.  He must be really special if he didn’t have to throw a punch to win a fight!

              His second match of the day was a one-stock affair on Balloon Fight, infamous for the bumpers and a hungry fish.  Many small platforms separated him from his opponent.  After surveying the geography, Luigi decided that it was just the stage to do absolutely nothing.  He raised his eyes and smiled at his opponent.

              “You won’t be smiling after I beat your [ _bleep_ ]!” the opponent retorted, casting Luigi a look of pure scorn.

              _You won’t be talking that [_ bleep _] after you lose without me doing a thing_ , thought Luigi.

              3—2—1—GO!

              “Come and get it, L!” cried the opponent, bounding across the platforms toward Luigi.

              Luigi remained where he was, locking in on his opponent with glittering eyes, his smile growing by the second.  His fists tightened, but he reigned in his adrenaline, even as the approaching foe screamed more invective.

              “What’s wrong, L?  Scared?” mocked the opponent as they stood two platforms away, catching their breath.

              _No.  Just waiting for you to be thrown off course by those bumpers or eaten by that fish._

              The opponent smirked, having Luigi right where they wanted him.  “YOOOOLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” they hollered, closing the distance between the two.

              Luigi also had his opponent where he wanted _them_.  And like the previous times he’d done this, his restraint paid off with a spectacular spectacle.  The screams of his foe as they were bounced around like a pinball.  The opponent’s body hitting the spinning bumpers over and over.  The soft laughter of the spectators.  He looked over and saw Mario, doubled over in laughter while Peach giggled beside him.  Around them, the other spectators jeered and flashed the unfortunate opponent.  And as the final insult to injury, one bumper knocked the opponent straight down toward the water, where they were quickly snatched up by the big fish and pulled toward the lower blast line.

              GAME!

              “This game’s winner is—Luigi!”

**1.1.1**

              Since Luigi didn’t exert himself this time around, no showers were in order.  Instead, he went to the cafeteria and helped himself to some sushi.  Afterward, he went straight to his usual spot outside Master Hand’s office.

              The opponent was in the middle of their rant when Luigi arrived.  He saw red instantly.   _Dio_!  When he comboed them mercilessly, they ragged on him, and when he did absolutely nothing and won, they _still_ ragged on him!  Droning on and on about how OP he was and that something needed to be done with him.  The next time they faced each other, Luigi was gonna go all-out with his combos.  Let’s see what the opponent had to say then.

              “I knew you’d be here.”

              Luigi turned and let out a controlled breath when he saw Falco.  “Why are we playing this game?” he asked.

              Falco shrugged.  “I just don’t want you to hate me,” he explained.

              The plumber looked deep into his friend’s eyes.  “I don’t hate you.”

              “What I’ve seen on the battlefield says otherwise.”

              “I hate the words you said to me,” Luigi said softly, “but I don’t hate you.”

              “I see,” murmured Falco.  “L—I know that what I’m asking is easier said than done, but I’d like us to start fresh and be friends.  Let me back in.”

              Luigi had a cool look for him.  “Just for you to ream me out after losing to me again?”

              “Trust me, L.  I’ve learned my lesson.  I can’t believe I almost lost you over a down throw!”

              “I can’t believe you went off on me over a down throw,” Luigi shot back.  “Falco—are you serious about this?  Do you _really_ want our friendship back?”

              “Yes.  More than anything.  Even more than Star Fox.”

              “Then I hope you realize that it won’t be an easy ride to accomplish that.  Sacrifices will have to be made, and lots of them.”

              “I understand.”

              “You’ll also have to explain yourself to my friends and my bro,” Luigi went on.  “You’ve got a lot of work to do, Falco.”

              Falco smiled slowly.  “Thank you, L,” he said.

              “It’s just the beginning,” cautioned Luigi.  “I’ve decided to give you a second chance—let it not be in vain.”

              “It won’t be.  That’s a promise.”  On those solemn words, Falco turned and left.

              Luigi checked his watch.  It was time to warm up for his next match.

**1.1.1**

              It was just before dinner.  Falco sat in his room, on his bed, laptop propped on his thighs, once again engrossed in the Luigi-hating website—especially with the Project Nerf section.  He’d spent the interval watching videos of people ranting about that down throw, of meetings between disgruntled and salty For Glory players and of the frequent victims of the down throw presenting before the Bennigan Brothers.  The three looked quite sophisticated and quite handsome.  Suave, cream of the smooth.  Falco hoped he’d get the chance to meet them in person.

              Now, Falco was in the chat forum, hoping to strike up a conversation with someone he knew.  If what Koopa had told him last night was true—then maybe he’d bump into a few other angry, frustrated Smashers.

              He didn’t have long to wait.

**Psychic_Poke: Hey Falco!**

**SpaceAce: Mewtwo?**

**Psychic_Poke: The one and only.  Welcome to the dark side.**

**SpaceAce: Gee, thanks.  What brought you here?**

**Psychic_Poke: The nerve of some mortals.  They spend their days gushing and fawning over that man in green, but I ask you, what heroic thing has he done?**

**SpaceAce: Uhh—save his brother?**

**Psychic_Poke: If it weren’t for that, he’d probably would’ve taken off running.**

**SpaceAce: Wait—how are you even typing??**

**Psychic_Poke: I have my ways.**

**SpaceAce: Why go after his down throw?**

**Psychic_Poke: Well, that’s easy.  Being a Legendary at the mercy of a common plumber starts to wear on you after a while.  How about you?**

**SpaceAce: Same.  We had a fight about it four days ago.  Which is why I’m hesitant about all of this.  We just made up!**

**Psychic_Poke: Fear not.  He’ll never have to know.**

**SpaceAce: No.  He won’t.**

**Psychic_Poke: Do you really want to make up with him?**

**SpaceAce: It’s not him I hate.  It’s just his down throw.**

**Psychic_Poke: Ur in good company.  We’re all Luigi’s good friends.  We just have a beef with those combo options.  And don’t good friends tell the truth no matter what?**

**SpaceAce: Yes.  They do.  I’m over the guilt btw.  Koopa helped me realize that I did nothing wrong.**

**Psychic_Poke: If you ever want to drop in on one of our meetings, feel free.  Trust me, they’re fun.**

**SpaceAce: Meetings, huh?  I’ll think about it, all right.  Cya.**

**Psychic_Poke: Cya.  Nice meeting u here.**

              Falco opened a new tab on his internet browser and logged on to the Miiverse forum, avidly absorbing the salty words of his fellow down-throw combo recipients and offering them witty advice.  He continued to alternate between Miiverse and the website, his morbid curiosity growing exponentially.  As the hours passed, he started contributing to both sites, from written posts to sketches to audio bits.  His eyes were glued to the monitor as Kuro, Marth, Roy, Mewtwo and the Mii known as Kyle gave lengthy tirades about losing to Luigi and why they should’ve won.

              “[ _Bleep_ ] this, I’m on [ _bleep_ ]-ing stream with my [ _bleep_ ]-ing hands up!”  One of Kyle’s friends fumed in a video Falco played over and over.  “I’m not starting my [ _bleep_ ]-ing self!  You [ _bleep_ ]-ing stupid [ _bleep_ ]!  This stupid [ _bleep_ ]-ing justice, all [ _bleep_ ]-ing righteous [ _bleep_ ]-ing [ _BLEEP_ ], Luigi, is doing this [ _bleep_ ]!  You [ _bleep_ ]-ing [ _bleep_ ]!  I swear to [ _bleep_ ]-ing God, I’m gonna…”  Abruptly, the man cut off.  “You know what?  Everyone type in the chat ‘Luigi is a stupid [ _bleep_ ]’.  Just type in the chat ‘Luigi is a stupid [ _bleep_ ]’.  [ _Bleep_ ] him.  [ _Bleep_ ] him.”

              So, Falco typed those words in the chat.  And he wasn’t in the least bit ashamed.

**1.1.1**

              “Take your seats, if you please,” said Vince.  “This meeting will now come to order.  We will begin by taking roll call.  Manny, care to do the honors?”

              Manny took out a sheet attached to a clipboard.  “Marth Lowell?”

              “Here,” said Marth.

              “Roy Lycae?”

              “Here.”

              “Mewtwo?”

              _Here_.

              “Kyle Massey?”

              “Here.”

              “Dark Pit?”

              “Here.”

              Manny read down the list and marked the participants present and those absent.

              “I’m pleased to report that our endeavor has gained new fire,” said Vince.  “The activity on our website and on our Miiverse forum has really revved up.  I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you.  You have all worked very hard.”

              Quiet applause.

              “And now, if you would please welcome our guest speaker—the fearsome King Koopa!”

              Louder applause.  The ground shook as Koopa lumbered into the room and took his place at the front.  And then he roared.

              The audience jumped.

              Koopa chuckled.  “That gets to people every time,” he said.  “Vince—Manny—Shane—I can’t thank you enough.  There’s so much I need to get off my chest, and you’re the type of people who will listen, no matter what.  So, here we go.  Yesterday, in front of a sold-out crowd, I was sorely defeated in a Smash battle—by a familiar man in green.”

              Hums of sympathy.

              “I thought I got to him during a friendly chat with him in the Training Room—but I guess I didn’t.  That string bean handed my tail to me on a silver platter and _enjoyed_ it!  Everyone enjoyed it—especially Mario and the Princess!  I could hear their laughter even as I was plunging into the blast zone—even after the fight was over!  I am the King of Koopas, for God’s sake!  I am the Mushroom Kingdom’s worst nightmare!  I am the most menacing conqueror in video game history!  And they have the nerve to laugh at me!  You want to know why this happened to me?  It’s all because of those accursed combos!”

              The hulking reptile passed out a dossier of photos for the audience to look through.  “I would’ve turned him into shredded green meat if he didn’t have that down throw!  He subjects me to one agonizing defeat after another!  All around the world, the word is being spread that I’m being outmatched by a green wimp!  The nerve of him, challenging my power!  I thought Mario was bad enough!”

              “Yikes,” breathed Marth as he stared at the photos of Luigi easily outwitting and outmaneuvering Koopa.

              “I never thought I’d see the day when Green Stache outfoxed me—what right does he have to do that when he’s always cowering behind his beloved brother?  Think about it!  He’s Mario’s puny, green sidekick, and he makes me the laughingstock of Smash Bros!  Grrr—I’m so angry I could…”  He belched out a great plume of fire.

              As brave volunteers rushed onto the scene with fire extinguishers, Koopa pulled himself together and went on, “Look at him.  Now look at me.  He’s skinny and a scaredy-cat.  I’m the supreme commander of armies and airship fleets.  I’m not only the King of Koopas but also the Lord of the Dark Lands.  And I will not allow this peasant to make me feel anything less than what I am.  I would like those stupid down-throw combos of his—eliminated—obliterated—terminated—with extreme prejudice!”

              “If you play your cards right,” said Vince, “then perhaps we can have that arranged.”

              “You know, I _could_ have my trusted advisor, Kamek, cast a spell which will make those combos next to useless,” said Koopa, “but I’m sensing that your idea is even better.”

              “Right you are,” said Shane.  “Why use magic when you can use the mask of professionalism?  First, we convince Master Hand that those combos are a problem.  Then, we convince those in charge of the tournament’s—mechanics.  A magic spell is reversible—a nerf isn’t.”

              “If we lobby hard enough, then maybe our ideas will start to grow on them,” added Manny.  “You can start by getting your allies in the Dark Lands in on this.  Maybe you, Roy and Marth can form a political alliance, as well.”

              “I intend to,” winked Koopa.

              “As a matter of fact,” said Shane, “we have piqued the interest of another Smasher.  We’re just waiting on his final answer.”

              _Falco_ , thought Koopa.

              “I’ll make you guys a deal,” said Koopa.  “You help me put Greenie back in his place, and I’ll give the three of you a generous slice of my kingdom, including your own castle.”

              “You help us to the best of your ability,” nodded Vince, “and we’ll boost your military might in ways you’ve never even dreamed of.”

              “Ooh—I like that,” purred Koopa.

              “And as for the peachy object of your desires,” Manny chimed in, “we trust we’ll get our fair share in that department, yes?”

              Koopa huffed.  “Fine.  Your reward if you help me squash those pesky plumbers once and for all.”

              Everyone cheered as Koopa shook hands with the Bennigan Brothers.

              “Welcome to the club, Your Highness,” Vince said warmly.


	10. T Minus 22 Days

Why was Luigi so good in Smash nowadays?

              Practice.

              Lots and lots and lots of practice.

              Just because he had those awesome combos didn’t make him better than everyone else, after all.  His combos were only as good as the effort he put into them.

              And so, after breakfast, before his first match of the day, he’d hit the Training Room and warm up on a Sandbag.

              In between matches, he’d practice as well.  He couldn’t practice his throws on the Sandbag, but he could practice the nifty little set-ups for a grab.  One of his favorites was a fireball into a jab or jab lock.  It was such an easy set-up.  The hitstun from the fireball, especially, would give him time to grab.  And if the opponent shielded, then he could poke through their shield with a crisp kick before grabbing.

              Sometimes, he’d practice throwing out his aerials as quickly as possible, sharpening his reaction time.  He had to make sure his n-air was polished—it was a c-c-c-c-combo breaker!  The flying kick was a long-lasting move which came out relatively quickly, and he could fast-fall and counterattack.  People thought they had him—till he escaped with his Golden Leg!  That was his pet name for his n-air—the Golden Leg.  His Combo Breaking Golden Leg.

              For hours and hours, Luigi would practice combos and setups on the sturdy Sandbags.  His iPhone would blare hardcore workout hits, and when he was by himself, the volume would be as loud as his eardrums could tolerate.  His breathing would whistle sharply from his mouth.  Sweat would shine on his face and neck.  And on his face would be an intense, focused expression, eyes narrowed and flashing.  Body dodging and weaving as limbs lashed out, quirky scuttle jumps propelling him into the air.  He’d work the Sandbag relentlessly, and when the canvas started to wear, he’d start in on another one.

              About halfway in, he’d get hot enough to the point he’d unbutton his overalls, pull off his sopping shirt and then re-clasp the overalls, using the green garment as a sweat towel.  Then, he’d _really_ lunge into his workout, allowing himself a few open-mouthed breaths and increasing the power, speed and drive behind his blows.  Warm, sticky perspiration oozed down his upper chest and slid beneath his overalls, coating and forking down his arms.  The windows were always open, sending a breeze to cool him.  He felt lulled by the breeze and by the sensation of the sweat rolling off him.

              Luigi enjoyed training to better himself.  It was a good time to think about things and about certain people in his life.  Preferably aggressive things he needed expelled from his system.  If he had a fight with someone, this was how he cleared his head.  If his mind was all over the place, this was how he unscrambled it.  It felt good, and when he was finished, he felt completely relaxed.  Most of the time, he’d find a good rhythm and then close his eyes, letting the music and his motions fill him, releasing himself until he could barely land another strike.  Then, he’d sit against a wall, sports drink in hand, feeling the layers of sweat drying on his skin.  The cool wall against his back.  His breathing slowing to a normal pace.  His thoughts, rearranging.  No Smasher appreciated this kind of release like him.

              There were people who liked to peek in and watch him train.  The ladies would mill around, not paying that much attention until that shirt came off, and then they’d giggle amongst themselves and drink in his surprisingly fit physique as he went at the Sandbag, cords of muscle flashing across his chest, muscles in his pumping arms flexing, tensing and relaxing, his shoulder blades working.  And then that face, that adorable face, flushed, forehead decorated with strands of hair, glued there by sweat.  Tracks gliding from his forehead to his nose, tracing his cheekbones, cheeks and jawline, dipping down his chin, neck and finally his chest.  The cadence of his hits and his dipping body, skin flashing and shimmering in the sun and the sound of his whistling breaths made the ladies breathless themselves.  The guys would be dumbstruck by Luigi’s strength and his low, emphatic, masculine grunts.  Their mouths would gape open, and they’d whisper among themselves as he wore down Sandbag after Sandbag, enviously drinking in his sweat-slathered form and his combo strings and the way he bit back his exhaustion.  He had a lot of resiliency for a timid man!

              He didn’t really mind.  Let them watch.  Let them see what the lean, green fighting machine could do.  Let the guys stew in their jealousy.  Let the gals watch with wide-eyed adoration.  Let them see.  Let them all see.  If one of the onlookers came forward and offered to spar, then he’d happily accept.

              He’d always practice his down throw combos with a sparring partner, setting up for a grab as soon as possible.  Studying their reactions to see if he could read and tech chase, waiting for them to get frustrated and make mistakes or just stalk away, muttering about him.  Luckily, that didn’t happen.  The onlookers were eager to help him improve his combo game.  The aggressive spars would move all over the Training Room, blows flying steadily between them, pushing each other further and further.  The men would take off their shirts as soon as the spar began, but the ladies would wait awhile.  Some would try to imitate his fighting style, with varying results.  They’d try to avoid or deflect his grab attempts.  But their evasive maneuvers served to help Luigi devise better set-ups.  However frustrating things became, the sparring partners continued to try and outwit and outmaneuver him, which continued to give him more ideas to counter, which—well, you get the idea.  If only some Smashers in an actual battle would be like that—

              Today, the Training Room wasn’t very crowded, since the majority of Smashers were engaged in the bulk of their bouts.  Only a few Miis occupied the room, casually swinging at Sandbags or at each other.  Little Lauren had a taller Mii named Grace engaged in one section, while two Miis named Amelia and Zach took turns with a Sandbag.  Other Miis were present to supervise or re-stock Sandbags.

              In other words, it was relatively quiet.

              The Miis paused when they heard Luigi come in.  It was obvious that something was on his mind that he didn’t want to talk about right now.  His mouth was a tight line, his face was a little pink and his step was quite brisk.  Grace and Lauren stopped their spar, exchanged a nod, and filed out, followed by Zach, Amelia and the rest of the Miis.  The last one to leave dutifully closed and locked the door after them.

              Luigi wasted no time hooking up his music and launching at a group of fresh Sandbags.  He even decided to go ahead and discard his shirt before he even got started.  Mouth clenched, eyes flashing, breaths in angry bursts, heavy blows meeting Sandbags, the aggression flowed like wine.  And all he could think about was— _Falco, Falco, Falco._

              That bird, who was _so_ sorry for what he did, couldn’t even broach the subject to Mario and Peach, shirking away from them whenever they were around.  The blue-feathered avian, chatting him up whenever he had the chance, had nothing to say to the red-capped elder brother on the matter, keeping their conversations short or making sure that someone was sitting between him and Mario in the cafeteria.  Luigi knew what he was doing, and there was no way in the Inferno that Falco was gonna weasel his way out of a confrontation with Jumpman or his Princess.  Seeing that bird in the stands with a puppy-dog expression on his face, Luigi’s feelings toward him jumped up to a broil.  Decked out like a sports fan, voicing and gesturing his support—but his eyes saying something else.  Disdain.  The plumber had fought Fox earlier, and he, too, had a rocky history with the man in green.  In the first tournament, Fox was fourth on the tier list, just below Falcon, and joined the racer in tormenting the so-called “last-place loser”.  His nasty attitude worsened in Melee, when the vulpine was considered a god.  Fox had hosted lavish parties, rode around in his own limo with Falco and considered the mid and low-tier fighters beneath him, especially Kirby, poor little Kirby—what the little puffball had eventually been driven to do—Luigi would never forget it, nor would he ever forget how he used his own experience to build Kirby back up.  But that’s a different story.

              Anyway, Falco had sat in the stands, well away from Mario, of course, watching his leader duke it out with his estranged Brooklyn buddy.  The latter could smell that the avian was secretly rooting for the former.  He thought he could see his beak scrunch up each time he put the vulpine in a combo, gamely masking his apparent disgust with shallow, hollow cheers for Luigi.  It was so paper-thin that the man in green saw right through him.  Of course, he was rooting for Fox.  It was him and Fox all the way.  Did he forget that he’d joined in with Fox on the 20XX crap during the Melee days?  Falco and Fox, on top of the Smash World, and everyone else could go to Hell!  Even now, it made his breath come fast!  Though Fox wised up during Brawl, his relationship with the man in green had been permanently altered, and the plumber’s mind would be drawn back to the early days as he pounded away at the vulpine.  They’d fought on Lylat Cruise, and Luigi wanted nothing more than to hand Fox’s tail to him on one of his home stages.  See how he liked _that_.  But just like with Falcon, the pain abated at the end of the match, and the two fighters shook hands and parted on civil terms.  Fox was a little frazzled and upset, but he also remembered the cruel way he used to act and knew that he deserved it all—even worse.  But as he walked away, Falco met him and began speaking animatedly to him, angrily gesturing Luigi’s way to show his displeasure over Fox’s defeat at his hands.  Luigi simply pretended not to notice and marched off to the Training Room before he did something he’d regret.

              _A lot of the Smashers are getting sick and tired of ‘em, anyway!_   Was that true?  Was Fox secretly getting tired of those combos?  Was he secretly harboring jealousy over his fighting ability?  Were all of his opponents secretly upset over losing to him?  Was—Mario?  Falco’s derisive words and the suspicions they aroused played in Luigi’s mind as he focused his fury on this Sandbag and that Sandbag.  He thought they made progress yesterday, standing outside Master Hand’s office while an unlucky opponent ranted.  Falco really wanted to make their friendship work—until he saw his combo game in action!  He understood that Falco held Fox in high regard despite their squabbles, but still!  Why was he so upset over Fox losing to Luigi all of a sudden?  Why did he hate his combos all of a sudden?  Since when was he so salty?  Luigi hated saltiness—he despised it with a passion.  So much that salty opponents faced an instant, brutal punishment at his hand on the battlefield.  Luigi was still waiting for another go at the avian.  There was a lot of stuff he still needed to work out.

              Here in the Training Room, Luigi’s feelings toward Falco continued to broil and broil, spilling from every last cell in his brain, from every last pore in his skin.  Flooding the Training Room along with his workout tunes.  Beating in his eardrums.  There were feelings he thought he’d rid himself of yesterday, but obviously, he was wrong.  None of this salt would stop him from doing his combos, and that’s just what he did, practicing the tried-and-true and envisioning the new on the white, beady-eyed canvas.  Heat rippled down his skin, tears worried at his eyes—and it only made him combo up on the Sandbags even more, not stopping till he saw granules of sand leaking out, at which point he’d move on to another Sandbag, slamming it with enough force to make his own body reverberate.  It felt _d—n_ good.  Being alone with his thoughts and his flaring epinephrine.  Hearing nothing but his music and his breathing and his echoing blows.  For ninety swell minutes, Hurricane Luigi dominated the room, uncaring when his playlist started repeating itself, hoping—praying—to get this ugliness out of his system.  Smh.  Fat chance!  He still had a doozy of a lineup later today, so after then—after then—

              Expelling one breath in a deep grunt, Luigi fired a Smash attack at a thoroughly beaten Sandbag and watched in satisfaction as the thing exploded, sand bleeding from a gaping wound on its center onto the floor and onto him.  Sticking to face, arms, neck and chest.  After he flicked granules away from his eyelids, he continued his beatdown like nothing happened, mulling over another source of aggression.  That turtle—he couldn’t keep his claws off the Princess for five minutes!  After their match two days ago, and once he was finished screaming about the man in green to Master Hand—guess how he decided to get his revenge?  Guess what the Mario Bros had to spend the night doing?  Guess who lost a hefty chunk of well-earned rest dealing with that nonsense?  And apparently—it made Koopa feel better.  Taking his problems out on a sweet Princess—Koopa really _was_ an unimaginable S.O.B!  Judging from how much he got from that turtle—Luigi really didn’t need it from Falco!

              After those ninety minutes, Luigi increased the ferocity of his workout until he positively couldn’t take anymore.  He turned down his music and sat against the wall, cool against his hot back, eyes closed, breathing hard from an open mouth.  He was sweating rivers.  It would be a while before his blood cooled.  Feeling his chest jerk up and down and his muscles flex with his breathing, he began to run through the breathing exercises the Wii Fit Trainers taught him.  Even after running down the list, his blood was still at a steady boil.  This was serious!

              He snatched up his bottle of Gatorade and knocked back a quarter of it.

              “Believe it or not, the Sandbags don’t exactly have super armor.”

              Luigi stared.  There was Falco, staring archly at the remains of the exploded Sandbag.

              “What do you want, Falco?” Luigi asked, a little sharply.

              “Hopefully a Sandbag to practice on before you obliterate them all,” Falco replied smartly.

              Luigi huffed.  “I’m not in the mood to talk right now, all right?”

              “Do I look like I came here for chitchat?” retorted Falco.

              And indeed, he didn’t.  Nobody walked into the Training Room wearing a muscle shirt and leggings to strike up conversation with someone.  The avian’s eyes drank in his estranged friend’s perspiration-washed frame and his flashing eyes.  He came in here to break a sweat, and the man who’d help him do just that was seated against a wall with a big bottle of Gatorade.

              Luigi set the Gatorade aside and stood up.  This was perfect.  The Sandbags wouldn’t get his flaming aggression out, but Falco would.  He’d feel their spar into next week, the plumber would make sure of that.  Smartly, he approached Falco, leftover energy snapping back to life, internally bristling over the expression on the avian’s face.

              “I really don’t like your attitude,” he said.

              “What attitude?  Why would I have an attitude?  I’m just hoping to unwind before my next battle without someone hogging the equipment.”

              “Wow, what’s hitting you?”

              “ _You’d_ like to know.  And I thought you weren’t in the mood for a conversation.”

              “I’m not.”

              “Then let’s stop talking and start doing what we’re in here for, yeah?”

              Luigi raised his fists.  “You read my mind.”

              Falco also took his stance, glaring hard at his sparring partner.  “Combo me.  I dare ya,” he goaded before they began.

              Now, Luigi had many notable sparring partners.  Those he frequented shared combustible chemistry with him and fed off of his aggression well.  In turn, they possessed aggression he could feed off of.  At the top of the list was Mario.  From the start of Smash Bros, nothing brought more anticipation than a hot and sweaty spar with his elder brother as their favorite tunes played.  Emotions as well as adrenaline filled the room, the continued conflict of superstar and shadow, and it felt so good for both parties to relieve their bodies of that tension.  When those two were in the Training Room together, all bets were off.

              The same could be said for Luigi and Falco today.  There was no restraint or mercy to be shown as the two Smashers battered one another.  The man in green instantly accepted Falco’s dare and tried to get him in a grab, but the avian was having none of it today, keeping him just out of range with Blaster shots.  But his sparring partner was patient.  There was a five-day-old itch he needed to scratch, five days’ worth of tension, ugliness and hatred to unload.  He targeted the bird’s face and body with painful attacks.  He kicked him off his feet like a judo master.  He countered the Blaster fire with green fireballs.  He wanted to see how much Falco had practiced since their last match.  From what he was seeing now, he’d practiced very little.

              Then, Falco put aside his Blaster for brutal wing strikes, kicks and drilling beak attacks.  He was actually on the offensive.  He was paying the man in green back, all right!  But in a matter of minutes, Luigi had him back on the defensive with a back throw and a quick barrage of fireballs.  He was _not_ putting up with this.  His eyes sparked as he went in close, Falco dodging aside and readying his Blaster, but barely managing to get off a shot when a crushing kick met him, sending the weapon flying.

              “Fine,” snapped Falco, kicking back, harder and faster before adding a downwards drill kick for a meteor smash.  Luigi kicked low and then hopped back up, breathing heavily.  He sent his fists into Falco’s face before attacking the abdominal and torso region.  In desperation, Falco shielded.

              Big mistake.

              He must’ve forgotten that he could be grabbed through his shield.  Good thing that Luigi could always remind him.  The smart-talking avian now found himself in Luigi’s grip, eye-to-eye with him.  He knew things were hopeless now.

              _Noooo, God!_   He thought.  _Oh God, please, no!  No!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_

              His prayer wasn’t answered.

              As soon as Luigi slammed him down, Falco tried to DI away, but his sparring partner was ready for him.  He began a ferocious, punishing combo, giving the bird no time to lash back, and then re-grabbed him to start the process over.  Each combo was more vicious than the last.  Luigi saw the familiar frustration gleaming in Falco’s eyes and felt the urge to laugh in his face.  _How do you like that, Falco?  How do you like being owned and bodied in this Training Room as my favorite songs play over the sound system?  This is nothing compared to the next time we meet on the battlefield_.  His face was set, his jaw clenched to the point of bringing on a headache, his breathing in harsh, measured beats.  He hardly heard his lungs as they begged him for a respite.  He could only hear Falco’s derisive diatribe.  He could only see Falco vainly attempting to wrest the advantage from him, kicking out his Reflector, using his Fire Bird and Falco Phantasm and tripping him with fast kicks.  But Luigi always got up and got even, tricking him into shielding or letting him in so he could grab and do more combos.

              The spar went on.  By now, the floodgates had slammed open, the rest of Luigi’s raw feelings gushing out.  His previous bouts and spars and sessions with the Sandbags had nothing on this.  A one-on-one spar with the perpetrator himself, allowing him to get that hate out, to get that aggression out.  If Falco hadn’t walked in, then Luigi would’ve gone mad with repressed emotions!  He just let go with more and more combos, using Falco’s obvious flustered state as fuel.  Mashing into him with a Cyclone, getting him to roll into an up smash or a down smash, harshly poking him with a forward smash and using his ever-reliable Golden Leg to escape Falco’s rare combos.  He had a lot to say, and he made sure the avian was paying attention—except he was letting his fists and his combo game do the talking!  Falco wasn’t stupid; he knew that the memory of their dust-up was driving his sparring partner’s energy and force.  Buckets of hurt were behind every blow.  But the avian didn’t care.  Not anymore.

              The tension and aggression between the two was palpable.  Luigi’s tongue fiercely curled over his upper lip and raked across it.  Blue eyes were slightly narrowed.  Falco’s face was twisted into a sinister sneer as he struck out hard with wings and feet.  Sweat dampened his feathers and made them seem to tuck into his body.  He went for his sparring partner’s exposed skin whenever he could, relishing in the sharp gasps as he hit his targets.  But Luigi clenched his mouth and pulled himself together within seconds.  Distracting him with jabs and kicks before going for a grab and a combo.  Since he thought so highly of these combos, why not give him more of them?

              “ _I wouldn’t rely so much on those precious combos if I were you…_ ”  Well, Falco shouldn’t rely too much on his Blaster.  Each time he snatched it up from the ground, Luigi simply knocked it away again.  And his strategy wasn’t all about his combos.  They were just a big part of his strategy.  There were other things he could do.  Scuttle jumps, backflips, misfires, Cyclones, Super Jump Punches.  His spiking down taunt.  He was famous for some of those before his new down throw came into the picture.  And this was what he decided to demonstrate to Falco after a while, channeling his intense emotions into the strongest fiery uppercuts and most glorious misfires he could muster.  Whenever he got knocked into the air, he used his Cyclone to punish a follow-up or throw out an aerial.  It was like surging heat packed into his fist or flowing through his bloodstream as he rocketed himself through the air.  It was as if he’d broken a Smash Ball, so much power kicking into him at once.  But it still didn’t grant as much of a release as his combos.

              “ _Stupid [_ bleep _]-ing combos…stupid [_ bleep _]-ing combos…A lot of Smashers are getting fed up with ‘em, anyway…_ ”  Yeah, he could see that.  Most of his opponents refused to shake his hand after tasting them.  And he could hear that, too, whenever they stomped to Master Hand’s office to throw a tantrum and beg him to _do something_.  Like what?  Give them Band-Aids and Tylenol?  Or bake them cookies and tuck them into bed and read them a story?  This was a tournament!  Some battles were won and some were lost.  Why not learn from the loss instead of fulminate over it?  Well—Falco showed him, didn’t he?  He really put him in his place and taught him a lesson when he said that crap in that corridor, didn’t he?  He must’ve felt like a real avian!  Had the other whiny salt-lords declared him their champion?

              Drawing in a huge breath, Luigi snagged Falco as he tried to give them some distance and went right back to executing his combos.  Even with sweat in his eyes, the leftover feelings still circulated.  Looking at Falco, he wasn’t seeing a Brooklyn buddy.  He was seeing a salty, arrogant pushover.  Maybe if he’d get that look off his face, they’d make some progress.  But the words continued to pound inside him like his jackhammering heart, tightening around his soul like a vice.  He really wished Falco would take the hint and change his little attitude.

              Now, Luigi could taste his sweat, almost as salty as a salty opponent.  It was in his eyes, in his mouth, flying off him in a shower of droplets as he moved, but he ignored it, concentrating on when to throw, how to tech-chase, and which attack he should follow up with.  He could hear his breath over the music, the noisy, open-mouthed breaths he tried to avoid in a real battle.  He saw Falco’s beak curve upwards in a smile when he heard those breaths.  But he wouldn’t be laughing for long.

              It took a while.  Just looking at the expressions on Falco’s face caused Luigi’s temper to bubble back up.  He almost broke that Blaster and that Reflector, knocking the former away with a kick or a chop and slamming his fists into Falco’s hip where the latter was located.  But eventually, the exertion began to work its magic.  By and by, Luigi grew less angry at his sparring partner, the rage starting to simmer down.  Aches and exhaustion began to register, but he wasn’t quite done with Falco yet.  He grabbed a few lungfuls of air and went at him anew.  As the hurt dwindled, so did the force behind his strikes, just slightly, still hard enough to leave bruises.  Falco also noticed the fire leaving Luigi’s eyes and his face softening, and he felt a minor twinge of guilt as he thought about what he’d been up to lately.  It appeared that the man in green was finally ready to put that exchange behind him.  Then, he thought about the combos he’d been subjected to during this spar.  He still stood by his belief that his pal’s combo game was too strong.

              The dissipating fury didn’t mean Falco was safe from those combos.  Luigi still found opportunities to put him in one of them to get his point across.  He allowed his breathing to slow and deepen, gathering his thoughts.  The words receded further and further from his memory.  This spar had really cleared his head.  Perhaps he and Falco still had a chance after all.

              After one last song, the spar wound down.  The furious combos became an exchange of simple attacks, Luigi’s eyes still locked firmly on Falco’s.  Three or four more songs played before they decided to call it quits for the day.  As they stood there, sopping with sweat, no words needed to be said.  The look in his buddy’s blue eyes told him that they were okay.

              For now.

**1.1.1**

              “We did it.  We finally worked things out,” Falco said to Fox later.

              “That’s—wonderful!” smiled the vulpine.  “I knew you could do it.  But I hope you learned something from all of this.”

              “Uh-huh.  Not to get frustrated all the time,” said Falco.  “Maybe I should start watching videos, asking people for advice.”

              “And don’t be so quick to blame the opponent and talk about how they’re overpowered,” added Fox.  “Don’t take this reconciliation for granted, Falco.  When we fight and make up, you certainly don’t do that—and neither do I.”

              “Yeah—I honestly don’t know why I went off like that,” murmured Falco, “but that’s something I’ll never do again.”

              “You still have Mario, though,” cautioned Fox.  “He may be harder to soften up.”

              “Don’t worry about him,” said Falco.  “He’s just being the big brother.  Heck, if someone dissed you like that…”

              Fox blushed.

              “What?  Yeah, I’m snarky and tough-talking sometimes, but I can be soft and nougaty, like a Three Musketeers bar.  Fox, you, Peppy, Slippy, Kat and Krystal—you’ve become my family.  Family members look out for one another.”

              The mercenary leader put his arm around his ace pilot.

              “The Smashers are your family, too,” he whispered.  “The next time you get frustrated over constantly losing to someone, remember that.”

              “I will,” promised Falco.  “Let’s go get something to eat.”

**1.1.1**

              Later that afternoon, Luigi relaxed in his room, reading _People_.  He sincerely hoped he made the right decision in taking Falco back.  Most people were syrupy toward him for a few days before springing something else upon him.  But this was someone he’d known for fourteen years.  Falco may have been brash and snappy and trash-talking, but during the spar, he’d seen beyond it and found the remorse.  And so the emotions dwindled into a small corner of his mind, where it wouldn’t bother him anymore.  He’d think about it at night sometimes, sure, but it wasn’t as all-consuming as it used to be.  He and Falco would piece their friendship back together, and the avian no doubt took something home with him from the experience.

              Now, if only he’d get his big bro to lighten up—

              _In due time, L.  In due time_ , he thought to himself.  Just like him, Mario’s fire would run its course, and he’d be back on speaking terms with Falco again.  He couldn’t blame the guy for wanting a go at him, anyway—after all, isn’t that what siblings did?  But now that the rage had cleared, he could get Mario to cool down, as well.  It would be a difficult task, but it would be done.

              Someone gently knocked on the door.

              Luigi set down his magazine and crossed the room to answer it.

              A small, brown-haired, brown-eyed Mii, Evelyn, stood on the other side with a DVD.  “Hi,” she said cheerily.  “This is for you.”

              Luigi took the DVD.  It had the word “Memories” written on it in blue ink.

              “A gift from a friend,” explained Evelyn before taking her leave.

              Luigi hopped onto his bed, booted up his laptop and inserted the disc.

              It was an old video of him and Falco on the latter’s Arwing.  Luigi smiled as he remembered that day, the blue sky and the clouds and the two of them just talking—until Falco executed a barrel roll and Luigi clung to the seat and shrieked as their world spun.  After Falco did it a few more times, Luigi finished up laughing.  Dusk had fallen when they landed, and they quickly scurried out, hiding from the patrolman yelling that the Arwing should’ve been in an hour ago.  They sat there and shared mixed nuts and talked about life, then lay on their backs, gazing at the stars, until the coast was clear, at which point Falco took him to a fast-food place.

              Falco was softening Luigi up, and they both knew it.

**1.1.1**

              In Falco’s room, the avian sat at his computer, looking over an email he’d written.  He knew that once he sent this email, there was no going back.  The breakthrough he’d had with Luigi earlier would mean nothing.  But those down-throw combos, man!  He was sick and tired of dealing with them!  It was because of those combos that this mess happened in the first place!  Plus, the hours he’d clocked in perusing that blog and that website had failed to slake his thirst.  Now that he knew that he wasn’t alone, he wanted to see how he could work with these people to _take care_ of those pesky combos.  Which was why he was revising and re-revising this email.  He had to make sure everything was pitch perfect.  This was no email to a friend, this was an email to Shane Bennigan, and it had to be as close to gold as possible if he wanted the guy to take a chance on him.

              After the fifth revision, Falco was satisfied.  He took a breath, glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, and hit “Send”.

              Good times ahead, indeed!

**1.1.1**

              “Here they are!” Kyle sang out as he lugged a box into the room and set it on a table.

              “Thank you, Kyle,” said Manny, opening the box.

              Marth gasped.  “Are those…?”

              “Uh-huh,” nodded Manny as he pulled out a small puce-colored square and held it aloft.  “May I have everyone’s attention please?”

              The conspirators looked up.

              “What I am holding up is a very important piece of paper,” said Manny.  “After much anticipation, our identification cards have arrived.  You must keep these with you at all times.  You must have these concealed at all times.  They are your golden tickets to our upcoming meetings and social events.  They will define you as part of our network—but take care to show them only to your fellow conspirators.  These cards are not playthings, my friends.  Bear them well and wisely.”

              Manny and Kyle began passing out the puce-colored laminated squares to everyone in the room.  Each card bore a conspirators’ name and the Bennigan coat of arms.  The reverse side bore a pledge committing themselves to Project Nerf, which everyone eagerly signed.  Then, they slipped the cards into their pockets, feeling considerably like important people.

              Just as the distribution of identification cards was finished, Shane burst into the room.

              “WE GOT ONE!” he loudly announced.

 

             

             


	11. T Minus 21 Days

Smash spectators had started playing the drinking game to Luigi’s down throw combos.

              It had been going on for quite a while now.  Master Hand was a little lax when it came to bringing alcoholic beverages to the stands.  He had lots of Miis around to prevent things from getting too out of hand.  But he was strict when it came to designating a driver for the ride home.  That, however, is a different story.

              For this drinking game, there were a variety of spirits to choose from.  The most popular was draft beer.  There was also whisky, Scotch, brandy, rum, champagne, red wine, blush wine, white wine, tequila, vodka and schnapps.  The wine was poured into glasses, while the rest of the alcohol was poured into tumblers.

              The rules of this game were simple.  Whichever spirit you picked, you had to stay with it.  This was mainly for safety reasons.  Each time Luigi pulled off a down throw combo, you took a drink.  If the opponent escaped the combo, you took half a drink.  If the plumber re-grabbed, you took two drinks.  And if it was a kill combo, you drank until the opponent was KO’d.

              It was a surprise that none of the spectators passed out by the end of the match.

              This drinking game caused Mario and Peach to raise eyebrows, just like with the flashing and mooning.  And again, they decided that they were in no position to judge them.  They took the energy and rolled with it, even participating in the drinking games after a while.  Their spirits of choice were champagne or merlot, but every so often, Peach would take rum, vodka or tequila as her drink, and Mario would go for the draft beer or a neat Scotch.  Everyone would be stunned speechless when they saw how well the dignified Mushroom Princess could hold her liquor.

              Those rooting against Luigi would partake, as well, but they’d drink out of sympathy for the opponent.  From the beginning of the match to the end, they’d take swig after swig from their bottles while watching Luigi own the opponent.  But no amount of alcohol could numb their searing hatred toward that plumber.  They just wanted an excuse to get completely wasted and wreak havoc.

              In recent days, Falco Lombardi had become one of them.

              It had been almost a full day since Luigi finally worked past the last of his anger and gave Falco another shot.  The avian tried to appreciate this, but seeing those combos made it hard!  He was reminded of his humiliating defeat on Smashville, the event which set him off in the first place!  If it hadn’t been for those combos, Falco wouldn’t have blown up at Luigi, and their friendship wouldn’t have taken that hit!  But he did his best to be cool.  After sending that email to the Bennigan Brothers, he’d sidled over to Luigi’s room with a big tub of ice cream.  The plumber had let him in, and they’d shared the ice cream while watching hilariously funny movies.  When the tub was empty, the duo had a talk about the heated exchange which had nearly crippled their relationship.  Now that Luigi had calmed down, he was able to make his case to Falco without fear of losing it.  He’d talked about how hurt he’d been when the avian tried to blame him for his loss.  He’d talked about the doubts and worries circulating in the days and night following the confrontation.  He’d talked about how Falco barely achieved anything by buying him petty gifts.  He’d talked about how he’d secretly hoped that Mario would thrash him after telling him about the incident.  He’d remained relatively controlled, despite some fist-clenching, voice-raising, voice-cracking and tears.  At least he didn’t physically lash out like he’d felt the urge to do.  And when he’d asked Falco why he’d reacted like that, the avian couldn’t squeeze out an answer.  All he could do was admit that he was wrong, apologize and promise never to do it again.  Luigi smiled in acceptance of the apology, but then he showed Falco out.  The talk was starting to work him back up, so he put on his music and danced as the avian secretly watched from a crack in the door.  Eventually, Falco’s lids grew heavy, so he headed back to his own room and fell asleep to the sounds of intense electronica and Latin.

              That was a fortnight ago, and things were still quite shaky with Mario.  So, Falco was seated off to one side, holding a stein of beer, watching Luigi go at one of his opponents.  This was his most intense bout of the day, yet he still had plenty of energy.  Carefully, Falco studied Luigi’s snapping blue eyes, his tongue flicking across his lips, his fluid dashes and dodges, his long, light leaps and the crisp way his punches and kicks came out.  He’d try to set up for dash grabs and pivot grabs when tricks such as the jab-lock began losing their charm.  He’d throw out his Combo Breaking Golden Leg of a n-air to extend combos or escape from an opponent.  He’d look hard at his opponent, warning them that he wasn’t screwing around.  His current foe was a tough one, heavyweight and muscular enough to withstand even a Misfire.  He had to pull out all the stops with this one, using his agility first, and then his strength when the opponent was in his grasp, and finally his attitude to jank and disrespect to his heart’s content.  The opponent had puffed out their chest and told Luigi about how they were gonna mess him up (and I’m paraphrasing) before displaying their assets to the crowd.  Luigi’s fans weren’t amused.  But those rooting for the opponent were.

              Luigi had proved them all wrong from the beginning.  Starting with fireballs, kicks and karate chops, tricking their opponent into lowering their guard, and then bam.  The combos started.  Each breath was a long, steady, soft _whoosh_.  His lungs could recover later.  He needed to get as much damage as he could on his beefier opponent before thinking about taking a stock.  If he stopped, then he was a sitting target for hammy fists.  His face, his belly, his ribcage, his hips and his shoulders had taken a capital beating—not that it stopped him, but it still hurt.  He’d struggled through soreness and swelling to stay in the fight, taking even and careful breaths, hearing Mario’s voice riding the wind from the stands.  Reminding himself that his big bro was counting on him.  Fixing the beefcake with a gaze like thunder, fists up and ready to go.  The crowd roaring for him and waving signs and flags and scarves and towels and banners and the like—and imbibing.

              Today, Mario had the sweet, crisp sangria in his wine glass.  At the start of the match, it was filled to the brim.  Every time his baby bro polished off a combo, he took a sip.  For each combo extension, he took a slightly larger sip.  If a combo attempt was unsuccessful, he’d refill the glass.  If Luigi re-grabbed, then he’d take a swallow.  Empty half of the glass if it was a kill combo.  Drain the glass completely if it was a zero-to-K.O.  Spectators crowded around him, spurring him on, hooting and cheering whenever he threw back his head and slugged that glass of sangria back.  They loved seeing a different side of Nintendo’s mascot.

              Mario refilled his glass after a kill combo caused him to drain it off, studying the way the lights played across the wine.  With a big smile on his face, he stood and then raised his glass to his baby bro in a silent toast.  He’d always tried to abstain to set a positive example for the kids, but he’d drink to his lil’ bro proving himself and kicking—butt—out there.  Luigi, catching his breath, noticed him, made a determined fist and slammed it into his open palm.  His fans went crazy, but as the Bros exchanged an intense, held gaze, the cheers seemed miles away.  Their lips didn’t move, but they were talking to each other.  Mario visibly winced—Luigi looked awful!  Large bruises all over his body, blood pouring from his mouth and nose and from the cuts left from the opponent’s rings.  The beginnings of exhaustion in those blue eyes.  His chest heaving.  But still so vibrant and so focused.  With one blink, the look of exhaustion was gone, done in by an elder brother’s encouragement.  The opponent respawned, looking madder than Hell.  In one fluid motion, Luigi turned, hardened his gaze and put up his dukes.

              The opponent was on their last stock, while Luigi had only lost one.  As the sweat-washed form of the man in green once again began to dance and flit about, his foe let the frustration take them over and started making crucial mistakes.  The spectators took double shots each time this happened, laughing softly as the unfortunate soul fell right into an attack.  Again, Mario raised his glass to Luigi before taking a hearty sip of his wine.

              Meanwhile, Falco was on his third stein of beer, trying to keep his cool.  He tried to remember what he’d put Luigi through.  Tried to remember the talk last night, especially the slight hitch in Luigi’s voice when he politely asked him to leave.  He reminded himself that although they’d made up, they were still a long way from where they once were.  He told himself that it was the opponent’s impatience putting them at a disadvantage, not Luigi’s combos.  But it was no use.  He started seeing red as the stronger, heavier and more muscular fighter was owned a thousand times over by a string bean who was a bit soggy round the midsection.  _Look at those combos.  Those stupid combos.  They’re the bane of this tournament’s existence!  We’re better off without them!_   He took a swig of beer and licked his beak.  He’d better jump onto that secret website later today and fume, rather than ruin the second shot Luigi had offered him.  That had some good stuff, really.  Having that down throw nerfed would be the perfect medicine.  Let’s see how many adversaries he’d easily down then.

              _Enjoy it while you still can, buddy_ , Falco groused internally, lifting his stein to his lips and taking a good swig.

              The beer somewhat dulled the bitterness of seeing Luigi’s combos, but it was a pitiful defense against Mario’s penetrating gazes.  He could still feel those blue eyes, cutting him, piercing him, hating him.  They burned through his feathers more than the alcohol burned his throat.  Falco took another swallow, easing himself to ignore those eyes.  A lot of good that did.  The man in red probably didn’t get the memo.

              A gasp sounded as the opponent broke free of Luigi’s combo and kicked him hard in the midsection.  Falco snickered softly and re-immersed himself in the battle.  Between Mario’s scathing eyes and Luigi’s combo game, the latter was better in comparison.

              Luigi’s long gasp lingered in the arena well after he’d rolled back to his feet.  He ignored his screaming midsection while spot-dodging his foe’s strikes, aimed fireballs at their face, and then weaved in close and kicked them right back, powerfully.  The opponent bent in two with a groan, but then recovered.  Luigi blocked the incoming hook but wasn’t ready for the cross-punch—his head snapped to one side, and he would’ve fallen backwards if a beefy hand hadn’t snagged him by the back of his shirt.  His opponent punched his face over and over before viciously turning on his already-aching midsection.  He was then slammed into the stage and peppered with kicks.  Even after all of that, Luigi managed a sweep attack which knocked the other fighter off their feet.  The man in green was back up in an instant, violently grabbing the opponent by the shirt collar and jerking them up to eye level.

              Nothing needed to be said.  Luigi slammed his foe back down, butt-slammed them, and then let them have it.  He wouldn’t be beaten down for long.  He couldn’t be beaten down for long.  Heck, he could’ve just used his neutral aerial to escape.  But for a split-second during that beatdown, he’d passed out, allowing himself to be further savaged.  No sense dwelling on that any longer—it would be distracting.  He heard select spectators grumbling in disbelief as the opponent’s hope was snatched away and his fans hooting and shouting as he got the advantage back.  He responded to both in the same fashion—throwing greater gusto into his offensive strategy.  That should give the haters something to chew on.

              Especially Falco.

              Luigi licked his lips as he thought about the ace pilot.  At the time, reconciling with him seemed like a good idea, but now—not so much.  Not with the way he continued to mope in the stands over his down throw.  Not with the way he continued to evade Mario.  He saw him in the front row, nursing a stein of beer, practically hugging it to him as if they were good friends.  He saw Mario, still shooting looks at him.  The situation left him so confused.  They’d talked last night, Luigi presenting the honest truth in a level, steady voice, and he seemed to feel better—until Falco started flapping his beak about how he was sorry and that he’d never lose his temper again, like the others did.  Not even answering the question Luigi had posed—why Falco had gone off on him.  He remembered the saccharine tone in the avian’s voice and how it had curdled his stomach.  He’d wanted to scream at him then.  But instead, he gave Falco an equally saccharine smile, told him that he accepted the apology and showed him to the door.  After he left, Luigi had put on his Latin and electronica playlists, dancing away the rest of the night.  Dancing away the second thoughts and the bad taste in his mouth from Falco’s non-answer to his question.  Dancing away the worry that his friends were secretly fuming over his combos.  Dancing away the extreme concern that Mario was resentful over losing to his younger brother but trying not to s how it.  Like in that Power Tennis tournament years ago when he “accidentally” stepped on his foot after the younger overcame the elder in the finals.  He was always thinking about his brother, day and night, awake and asleep.  How he loved him, adored him, admired him, looked up to him, made him tick—envied him.  There were these videos trying to portray Mario as a bully, funny parody videos in which Mario and the crew had fun at Luigi’s expense.  And in one video about Mario owning a restaurant, he and Luigi had gotten into an argument, and Luigi had told him to go to Hell.  Or something like that.  Holy ravioli—sometimes, Luigi wanted to say that in real life.  After thirty-plus years in his shadow.  After Mario had lied to him by omission about his placement on the first tier-list.  After feeling the weight of his tennis trophy in his hands, and then feeling pressure on his toes and looking down to see the heel of Mario’s boot against the sole of his own, almost grinding into it.  He remembered everything about that day, how hard he'd gripped his tennis racket, how his sweat had gotten in his eyes, how both bros had rallied as they gave it their all.  How, at long glorious last, the masses cheered and appreciated him as he was presented with the trophy.  How he’d spun and twirled with it while confetti rained down.  It had been arguably the best day of his life—until _Mario_ had turned up.  Clapping and giving lukewarm, half-hearted cheers, patting him on the back—and then—that was when it happened.  Mario stepping on his foot, looking at the act in bemusement—and then _laughing_.  And this was after Luigi had saved his life, too!  Since then, he’d pleaded his innocence—but he sure wasn’t laughing when the two returned for Melee!  It took a few matches between them, but Luigi cooled off and got over it.  At the end of the day, the Mario Bros were a team.  They argued, but they eventually made up.

              And now this—the nagging feeling that Mario wasn’t taking the losses to Luigi as well as it appeared.  But aside from the incident in Power Tennis, Mario was generally a good sportsman.  He smiled, shook hands, and gave Luigi a great big brotherly hug, regardless of who won.  Whenever they found time, they sparred together, however heated it became.  But one of the reasons Luigi had joined this tournament was to finally make a name for himself.  Outside forces, including that tier list, tried to keep him trapped in Mario’s shadow.  He’d made it a point to try to score more victories than his big bro, something which bled over into later sporting events, especially the Olympic Games against Team Sonic.  And then there was Mario’s status as Nintendo’s mascot, Smash’s unofficial spokesperson and the unofficial third-in-command.  At times, he had to remind folks—Luigi included—that he was still number one, something which didn’t sit well with the plumber in green.

              Nobody wanted to talk about it, but it had to be acknowledged.  It was something which had spiced up the brothers’ relationship ever since they crawled through that pipe into that mushroomy fantasyland.  Mario cast as the hero, with Luigi cast as the right-hand guy.  Being the hero had its benefits, and the former couldn’t help but flaunt it a little.  He, too, had been mildly upset when he was considered mid-tier in the first tournament.  But Luigi had also spotted him silently fuming whenever he lost to him.  People had tried to get under his skin over it.  He never got salty or lost his temper, thank goodness, but he’d huff a little and look quite—flustered.  Luigi considered it no big deal, as they were back on speaking terms in no time flat, and pushed it into the back of his mind.  But thanks to Falco’s hissy-fit, those concerns and suspicions were forced back into the open.  He needed to confront Mario about this someday, no questions asked.

              Falco and Mario.  Falco and the words.  Mario and the shoe-grinding.  Falco and the words and the saltiness.  Mario and the shoe-grinding and the passive-aggressive competition between them when playing sports.  Falco and Mario and the angry tirade and the shoe-grinding and the saltiness and the resurrected worries and the passive-aggressive contention which colored a brotherly relationship.  He couldn’t get these two figures in his life out of his mind.  He loved them both, and sometimes he hated them and wondered why he put up with them.  He felt himself growing agitated as his mind flashed back and forth between Falco’s tongue-lashing and Mario’s behavior at that tournament.  Both had apologized, but did it change the fact that they did those things?  No.

              Rather than letting it distract him, Luigi focused his thoughts inward, turning the agitation and frustration into energy in battling his opponent.  His eyes twinkled and glittered, and his face became steely and set.  He remembered to breathe.  He remembered to focus.  He remembered to read what the opponent was doing and condition them to anticipate something before pulling off something else.  He remembered how the fight could change direction at any moment.  The opponent’s obvious rage wasn’t doing any favors, either.

              Breaths were now in that crisp cadence.  His strikes were unyielding.  He threw out aerials to make sure his opponent didn’t escape.  When they did, he sucked them right back in with a Cyclone or two.  He ducked those imposing fists and launched himself right into their torso, setting up combos with sharp kicks.  The opponent kept raging at the plumber and making senseless mistakes, and Luigi made sure they regretted it.  He punished almost as hard as he comboed.  He styled and disrespected and dished out jank.  He wanted to _humiliate_ this big lug.  There was still a lot of fire he had to let out.

              Mario caught Luigi’s facial expression as he mercilessly lit into an opponent.  And he could feel his torrent of emotions, knowing that some of it was directed towards him as well as Falco.  He cherished Luigi—more than the Princess.  But sometimes, having his overall-clad derriere handed to him by his younger brother really wore on him.  He’d be raw for a few hours, and he’d have to go to his room to clear his head before doing something he’d regret.  His room nowadays had a balcony, a place where he loved to relax and study the scenery.  It was just the thing to calm him down after a defeat at Luigi’s hands—following a few rounds with a Sandbag, of course.  Leaning on his balcony, Mario would drink in the view and try not to let the loss get to him.  But he’d sense Luigi’s presence, lurking outside the room, watching him quietly vent, and he’d know what he was thinking.  He wasn’t mad at his bro—he knew that the only one to blame for the loss was himself.  Still it squeezed its way in as he stood there—that his younger brother, the second player, had thrashed him in front of God and everyone.  He was the face of Nintendo— _he_ was the hero here, and Luigi needed to remember that.  Though he forced those thoughts away, he could never hide them from the L.  He’d feel him glare at his back for a bit before heading to his own room and putting on his music.  Once he’d simmered down, Mario would whip up some spaghetti and head to Luigi’s room to reassure him.  It always worked.

              A fierce competitive spirit existed between them when stuff like this came up, from the Smash tournaments to the sporting events to the Olympic Games.  They expressed it passive-aggressively, but it was there.  Never would Mario forget that Power Tennis tournament in 2001, hot on the heels of his rescue from that mansion.  The doubles portion went fine, but in the singles, both had advanced to the finals.  The tension was palpable as the bros squared off.  There was this determination on Luigi’s face as they volleyed the ball back and forth.  They injected the energy they had left into that game, both of them winding up hot and sweaty and exhausted and cross but still soldiering on.  It ended with Luigi winning the match point—and the singles tournament.  Mario had watched as a Toad presented Luigi with his trophy—the pride in his eyes and everyone in the stands clapping and shouting for him.  That day had been his time to shine.  Mario was a tad perplexed, and who could blame him?  _He_ was the big brother, the superstar!  But he tried to take it in stride, approaching his lil’ bro, intending to congratulate him.  He saw him twirling around with his hard-earned trophy.  He reached him and patted him on his sweat-dampened back.  But as he showered Luigi with praise, he felt something—fleshy—beneath his shoe.  So, he looked, and—there was his foot, on top of Luigi’s.  To this day, he’d never figure out why he’d found it funny.  Luigi certainly wasn’t laughing about it.  The look of confusion, disbelief, anguish and betrayal on his angular face was forever seared into Jumpman’s psyche.  Later, Mario had apologized, explaining that it was an accident, that he didn’t mean to step on Luigi’s foot, but the damage was done.  Luigi’s victory had been soured.  Between that fateful day and the beginning of Melee, Luigi kept his interactions with his elder brother curt, clipped and matter-of-fact, ranging from lukewarm to cool.  Mario had lost count on how many matches and spars between them it took for him to finally get it out of his system.  Luigi forgave Mario, and life went on.  But there were still times when he’d think about it.  Including now.

              It was something neither brother would ever forget, even after fourteen years.  Mario frequently kicked himself over the affair, wishing he could take it back.  Wishing that Luigi could understand that it wasn’t a malicious act.  Wishing that people would stop trying to twist the incident around.

              He saw Luigi’s mouth round slightly and his chest move in and out as he drew several preparatory breaths.  Almost instantly, he knew that he was going for a kill combo.  Time for him to quiet his thoughts so he could enjoy it.

              His baby bro was so—ethereal—as he dashed in, grabbed his opponent for the down throw and then rained holy heck on them.  Sea-blue eyes followed the action, drinking in the minutest detail.  He, too, had to remind himself to breathe.  One hand was on the edge of his seat, the other clasped in Peach’s hand.  His heart sounded like it would beat right out of his chest, and his stomach was inhabited by jumping beans.  He licked his lips, locked his gaze and let his silent encouragement flow, like invisible waves behind his eye sockets.

              Back on the stage, Luigi felt that silent encouragement encircle him.  He was reminded of his deep, spiritual love for Mario and of Mario’s similar type of love for him.  The burst of anger stemming from that tournament abated slightly.  It probably _was_ an accident; Mario was never the bullying type.  The silent encouragement soothed the rawness and made him feel secure and loved.  It gave him the final thrust of strength and power he needed to best the fiend standing before him, with muscles almost as big as his face and his beefy, hammy fists.  Now, the big lug was starting to weaken.  They were breathing heavily, and their eyes were glazed over in pain and exhaustion.  All they could do know was to feebly swipe at the man in green, who easily slid out of the way and gave back with crisp, calculated punches before grabbing again.  He threw all he had left into this last combo, the combo that would take him home, finding the rhythm.  Listening to his breath.  Listening to the cheers and jeers.  Listening to the wind and the music from the stage’s loudspeakers.  Briefly numbing himself to the memories of his exchange with Falco and of the Power Tennis tournament.

              And finally—finally—came the coup de grace.  Tightly clenching his fist, a great, big inhale, planning and timing the trajectory, gathering up his adrenaline and his strongest emotions, and then—

              **_PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!_**

              The Fire Jump Punch slammed into the opponent’s torso, sending them straight up into the sky and the upper blast zone.  Luigi watched with a growing smile as his foe tumbled off into the distance, screaming piteously, before vanishing as a star.

              **GAME!**

              Mario led the spectators rooting for Luigi in a massive, wild cheer, while those rooting against him fulminated and cursed those combos.  Falco simply drank the last of his beer and disappeared into the crowd.

              “This game’s winner is—Luigi!”

**1.1.1**

              Since Luigi had briefly lost consciousness during the fight, he had to be checked out at the medical wing of the Smash Mansion.  After Dr. Mario gave him a clean bill of health, he took a five-minute shower, changed clothes and skipped down the hallway toward Master Hand’s office.

              The opponent was already there.

              Luigi knelt at his favorite spot and listened as yet another vanquished foe screamed at Master Hand for “letting” the plumber defeat them, or something like that.  Then, they started doing a “woe is me” speech in which they talked about growing up in an affluent family and how they were taught different styles of fencing, martial arts, boxing and archery.  How they went to some top-ranked college on some sports scholarship and became an expert bodybuilder and personal trainer, and how they’d joined Smash to fight with the best of the best.  And now they couldn’t look their family in the eye again, having destroyed their honor after being outsmarted by _a shadow_ , of all people.  Then, they went right back to singling out Luigi and delivering a laundry list of reasons why he shouldn’t have won over them.  The target of the rant bit his lip until he tasted blood, inadvertently opening a wound from the match.  _Stupid f—ing combos_ , his mind began to sing using Falco’s voice, but he blocked it and continued to drink up the rant like a milkshake.  _You have a milkshake, and I also have a milkshake.  But my straw reaches through this door, acro-o-o-o-o-o-o-osssss Master Hand’s office, and into your milkshake.  I—drink—your—milkshake!  Sssshhhllorp!  I drink it up!  Now, what do you think of that, Mr. Beefcakes?_   He was reminded of that film about the oil baron who was cold and ruthless and who taunted one of his rivals, who was at a low point, toward the end.  Well—Luigi wasn’t cold or ruthless or boastful, but he was starting to get fed up with people trying to blame him or Master Hand when they lost to him.

              “You all should be ashamed of yourselves, inviting someone like _him_ here!  If you’re gonna run this place like Weenie Hut Junior’s, then you shouldn’t have bothered inviting me and wasting my time!  I thought this was a gathering of fighters and warriors, not happy-fun-time for a bunch of p—ies!  How can I go back to my folks and my friends with this?!  Those god—n combos should be illegal!  _Illegal_!  Now I’m gonna be a laughingstock because of him!  What a joke this turned out to be!  Super Smash Brothers is just a gathering of incompetent, pitiful cartoons!  I’d invite Mickey Mouse, if I weren’t afraid he’d surrender, just to be that plumber’s [ _bleep_ ]!”

              Luigi bit his lip harder.

              “Look, I cannot allow you to insult my Smashers,” Master Hand said evenly.

              “Luigi is a coward, a loser and a failure!  He calls himself a workman—years and years of vocational training, just to learn how to use a plunger and a monkey wrench!  I almost broke my back to get where I am now!  What does he do?  He rides Mario’s coattails to fame and fortune and then has conniptions over not being recognized!  You wanna be recognized?  Then grow some backbone, for [ _bleep_ ]’s sake!”

              The opponent continued air their grievances over Luigi, which barely made any sense to begin with.  The plumber himself was now slumped against the wall by the door, the impact of the tirade meeting him like a subway train.  The pain he’d suppressed during the bout sank in.  He was reminded of the awesome bruises painting his body.  A gloved hand cradled his side, and he began taking measured breaths through his nostrils.  The agony shot under his skin, across his nerves and through his bloodstream, into his lungs and his heart.  Kettledrums pounded in his ears.  Tears oozed from his eyes.  And all he wanted was to _make this stop_.  It was all he could do not to charge in there and throttle the living daylights out of this whiny saltlord.

              “Hey.”

              Luigi turned—and smiled.

              Mario had some clue as to his baby bro’s whereabouts.  He knew he sometimes hung around the doorway of MH’s office to listen to his opponents’ heated conversations.  But this was the first time he’d seen how these conversations affected him.

              “Mario…” Luigi uttered in a soft, shaky voice.

              The red-clad brother knelt beside his sibling because he knew he needed him right now.  He saw the blood smearing Luigi’s lower lip and dripping down his chin, wiping it clean with a handkerchief.  Then, he observed the bluish-black blotches marring his face, the gashes crusted with dried blood—and the tears.  He felt his jaw beginning to grind with rage, his breath coming a little fast.  But he closed his eyes and counted to ten, allowing the emotions to subside.

              “Luigi…”  Mario felt his love spurting forth like a water spring and gathered his brother into a comforting hug.  Luigi sobbed quietly, his own arms rounding Mario’s body and pulling himself closer to him.  It felt good, being in Mario’s arms, his quiet baritone whispering comforting words in Italian, his shoulder pillowing his head, their hearts beating together.  And it felt good to hold Luigi, to thread his fingers through his hair, to trace the bones in his spine, to whisper in his ear and feel his words relax his muscles and dwindle his sobs, to hear his breathing steady into a peaceful rhythm, to know that he was soothing his pain.

              “Bro—you don’t have to torture yourself with this,” Mario said quietly, rubbing circles into Luigi’s back.  “Why do you listen to this, anyway?”

              “I don’t know,” murmured Luigi.  “I guess—there was once a time when I found this amusing.  But then…”

              “Falco,” realized Mario, the name burning his lungs like sulfur.

              Luigi nodded.  “It was the first time a good friend of mine blew up at me over it.  That was when something clicked.  If _he_ could get salty, then who else?”

              Mario cleared his throat.

              “He also said that ‘a lot of Smashers were getting tired’ of my combos, and I keep asking myself if that’s true.  That deep down, the friends I’ve made are…” He trailed off and raised his head, fixing Mario with a pointed look.  “Well—we both know how you tend to get sometimes when your status as the superstar is called into question.”

              “L—if you’re talking about—no, no,” Mario reassured him, combing his fingers through Luigi’s bangs.  “I don’t feel that way at all if you beat me.  I think your combos are amazing.  And the fact that you’ve won more—it’s a sign of your improving skills.  You’re my bro, Luigi.  I’d never act that way toward you.”

              “Are you jealous of me, Mario?  Secretly?”

              “I just said…”

              “I know what you said, big bro, but there’s the tiny matter of your shoe grinding into my foot after I won that tournament.”  Luigi studied Mario with a carefully neutral face.

              Sighing, Mario smoothed Luigi’s hair.  “Truth is—I don’t know why I did that,” he confessed.  “Maybe I _was_ a little hot over losing to you.  Maybe I _did_ have an innate desire to—remind you of your—status—with respect to mine—in the wonderful world of video games.  Maybe I _do_ feel a little usurped sometimes when you best me.  But never would I ever go to the extreme Falco went.  Never would I ever let it get the better of me.  Never would I ever read you the riot act over what your playstyle has that mine doesn’t.  I love you, Luigi, very much, and nothing will change that.  Not even your down throw combos.”

              Luigi’s facial expression slightly thawed, though his guard was still up.  “I really appreciate your honesty, Bro.”

              “I—I know you feel left out when I go on adventures without you.  I see it in your eyes when I come back.  Heck, I even read your diary on a few occasions.  I know that you’re still angry over the way I acted in that tennis tournament.  I know that despite your year and everything—I’m still the better-known brother.  And I want you to know—I’m sorry.”

              “I’m more hurt than angry,” Luigi corrected him.  “I felt—I felt that you betrayed me—that—you didn’t care about me…”

              “But I do.  I do.  I look out for you.  I leave you out of my adventures because I can never forgive myself if you get hurt.  And what if something happens when I’m gone.  Someone needs to defend the home front.  When you need a kindly ear, a shoulder to lean on or moral support, I’m there.  I really care about you, lil’ bro, and I love you, and I’m sorry for hurting you…”

              Luigi hugged Mario tenderly.

              “You have every right to be upset…” Mario went on.

              “Hey…” said Luigi.

              “Yeah?”

              “We’re brothers first.  Whatever happens between us, we’ll get over in time.  We’re a team, a dream team, and we face our problems together.  You look out for me, and I look out for you.  We’re brothers first.  Always.”

              Mario sighed in relief.  “Thanks, L.  I feel a lot better now.”

              Luigi smiled broadly.  “So do I.”

              They hugged again, the salty opponent’s rant all but forgotten.

**1.1.1**

              “This is ridiculous!  It’s been days, but no real progress has been made!” snapped the voice over the phone.

              “Well, what do you expect?” hissed Marth.  “Master Hand is breathing down our necks, and don’t get me started on Mario!  He loves Luigi to death!  If he finds out…”

              “He won’t.  Trust me,” cooed Vince.  “Now, is there any news on our bird friend?”

              “He’s in.  He’s interacting more with the chat room.  And he emailed Manny, did you know?”

              “Huh.  Manny said something about an email, but I must’ve been too distracted.”

              “Look, Vince—we’re doing the best we can.  Until we can get some time away from that glove—our hands are tied.”

              “I understand.  Sorry for flipping out.”

              “You’re forgiven,” Marth assured him.

              “But seriously, don’t stress so much over Master Hand.  Soon, we’ll have him wrapped around our little fingers.  And—we have a powerful cash cow.”

              “Cash cow?”

              “Did you know?  We have a pretty—destructive—force on our side.  He’s agreed to use his wealth and power to shield us.  And—he’s related to MH.”

              “No,” gasped Marth.  “You don’t mean…”

              “Uh-huh.  The one and only,” said a familiar, sing-song voice.

              “Crazy Hand?  But how…?”

              “Long story short—I’m jealous over the fact that he withstands my power.”

              “You think—you can manipulate your twin to advance our goals?”

              A giggle.  “Marthy-Marth—I manipulated my dear twin brother to rant about that plumber after some argument they had four months ago!  I’ve got this in the bag!”

              Vince took the phone back.  “You see, Marth—we’ve got your back,” he chuckled.

              “So—we’re going to manipulate our dear master of ceremonies via his brother.”

              “Better.  He’s gonna cover our financial expenses, put us up in swanky hotels and use our website to communicate with us.”

              “I can’t believe we have Crazy Hand as an ally.  Thanks, Vince.”

              “Thank Lady Luck, not me.  But don’t ever doubt me, okay?”

              “Okay.  Nice talking to you.”

              Grinning like a fool, Marth hung up.  He couldn’t wait to tell Falco!

**1.1.1**

              Nursing a glass of wine, Falco booted up his computer and signed onto the anti-Luigi website.  The vanquished opponent’s angry rant rang in his ears.  He couldn’t help but feel badly for them—Luigi had tarnished their reputation.  They could never look their family members in the eye again—thanks to those stupid combos!  The avian hoped he could catch the guy in the chat room and help them get that anger off their chest.  Otherwise, they’d do something they’d regret, like he did.

              He saw with delight that Manny had replied to his email, welcoming him into the circle like they were already friends.  Explaining the steps that had been taken so far, the secret meetings, the plans to sway Master Hand onto their side, the search for someone with enough clout to hook them up with the higher-ups.  It was something Falco found attractive.

              The avian sipped some more wine and entered the chat room.

**SpaceAce: Anyone home?**

              Watching from afar, he’d seen Luigi sag limply against the wall, tears in his eyes, as he listened to the rant.  The hate was really starting to get to him.  Then, Mario arrived on the scene, and the sight of the two bros hugging in front of Master Hand’s office had touched Falco’s heart.  Then, cold dread plunged into his belly as he remembered the feeling of angry blue eyes boring into him.  He’d managed to slip away unnoticed.  Was Mario aware that fences had been mended?  Did he care that fences had been mended?  It usually took the man in red longer to sweep things under the rug.  He really needed to lighten up and cut people some slack when it came to Luigi.  It’s not like they _wanted_ to hurt the poor guy—did they?  Falco surely didn’t want to.

**_HeroKing has joined the conversation._ **

              But ooh, that down throw—it was getting on everyone’s nerves.  It was like everything they did to try and counteract those combos served to make them better.  Luigi always found a way around them.  He was becoming overpowered, and everyone knew it.  Falco, Marth and the others were doing this for the plumber’s own good.

**_KoopaWantsAPeach has joined the conversation._ **

**_Red_Lion_Boi has joined the conversation._ **

**_EdgyPittoo has joined the conversation._ **

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Hey, Falco!  Nice to see you again.**

**SpaceAce: Same here.  Any news?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: My allies in the Dark Lands have agreed to help.  King Bob-omb, Petey Piranha, Mega Monty Mole and my other generals have drawn up petitions to do away with that plumber’s down throw.**

**SpaceAce: Awesome.  I take it that your latest attempt to woo Peach didn’t go very well?**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Nope.**

**EdgyPittoo: Hey!  I’m here, too!**

**SpaceAce: Dark Pit?**

**EdgyPittoo: What brings u to the Dark Side?**

**SpaceAce: U don’t wanna know.**

**EdgyPittoo: Yeah, I do!**

**SpaceAce: KK.  I got fed up with L beating me, so I decided to do something about it.**

**EdgyPittoo: What in the Underworld took you so long?**

**SpaceAce: Idk.**

**EdgyPittoo: Anyhow, welcome in!**

**SpaceAce: Thanks, man.**

**HeroKing: I have the raddest news ever!**

**SpaceAce: Spill.**

**HeroKing: Vince called me not too long ago and told me that we’ve gained a very powerful ally!**

**EdgyPittoo: C’mon, man!  Spit it out!**

**SpaceAce: Yeah, who is it?**

**HeroKing: It’s someone unexpected.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Can you just tell us?**

**HeroKing: Okay, fine.  It’s Crazy Hand.**

**SpaceAce: No way!**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Say _whaaaat?_**

**EdgyPittoo: How did they sway him?**

**HeroKing: He didn’t need swaying.  He’s been jealous of L since he first arrived in Melee.**

**SpaceAce: How’s he gonna help us without Master finding out?**

**HeroKing: He’s gonna send us some literature via this site.  He’s also gonna help pay for our food, lodging and other expenses, plus a hefty sum for allowance money.  If you need a place to stay for the night after our meetings, then he’s our man.**

**SpaceAce: That’s great news!**

**Red_Lion_Boi: I hear you’re still in the contemplative phase.**

**SpaceAce: Yeah.  L and I are friends, and we just made up.**

**Red_Lion_Boi: But you’ve had it up to here with his combos, right?**

**SpaceAce: Yeah.  It’s just…I hurt him badly.  And Mario still isn’t over it.**

**EdgyPittoo: Bah, who cares about what he thinks?  This is your life!  Those combos are ruining it!**

**HeroKing: But Mario’s also Nintendo’s mascot.  And he’s a darn good brother, too.  We need to tread carefully around him.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Hear, hear!**

**Red_Lion_Boi: Don’t worry.  He won’t ever have to know.  Right, Falco?**

**SpaceAce: Right.**

**HeroKing: What if you came to one of our meetings, Falco?  You know, to try it out, see how it fits?**

**SpaceAce: I’d like that.**

**HeroKing: There’s one happening tomorrow.  I’ll pick you up at around eight and drive you there.  Sounds good?**

**SpaceAce: U bet.**

**HeroKing: Everything’s gonna be okay.  I promise.**

**SpaceAce: Thanks, Marth.  You’ve been so helpful to me during this mess.**

**HeroKing: You may not realize this yet, but you’re helping Luigi by doing this.  We all are.**

**SpaceAce: Guess so.**

**HeroKing: So—I’ll see you tomorrow night?**

**SpaceAce: It’s a date.**

**HeroKing: Gr8.**

**SpaceAce: K, cya.**

**HeroKing: Cya.**

**Red_Lion_Boi: Cya.**

**EdgyPittoo: Cya.**

**KoopaWantsAPeach: Cya.**

**_SpaceAce has left the conversation._ **

Falco finished his wine, refilled his glass, and raised it high.  “Cheers, Luigi,” he said sardonically before taking another sip.  He had a feeling that things were starting to get better for him…

 


	12. T Minus 20 Days

              Luigi took a deep breath, and then another, as he sensed his teammate’s presence.  The teammate who had a sugary smile on their face but on any other day would tell you how much they despised the man in green.  The teammate who was extra-nice to Luigi and only wanted to get on his good side because they knew that his combo game would help the two of them win.  The teammate who would probably take the full credit for themselves if they won and dump the blame on Luigi if they lost.

              It was a 2-on-2 match on Battlefield, and also Luigi’s first bout of the day.  And this was just what he needed, being paired with one of his haters to fight two more people who didn’t think quite highly of him so early in the morning.  But sometimes, you picked the teammate, and other times, Master Hand chose the teammate for you.  This was the latter situation.  To make things worse, Luigi’s teammate was the muscle-bound fighter he’d won against yesterday!  However, the man in green didn’t complain—that wasn’t his style.  He was determined to make do with what he’d been given—regardless of how difficult it would be.

              “L, my man, are you ready for this?” asked the teammate, who we’ll call Chad.

              “Yes,” Luigi replied simply.  “Are you?”

              “Uh-huh!  We’re gonna smoke those turkeys!”

              Luigi offered Chad a smile.  “Just remember what we strategized, yes?”

              “Yes, yes—of course,” said Chad, whose tone of voice signaled that he’d already disregarded it.

              They stepped out onto the center of the stage, the spectators greeting them from the stands.  Half of those spectators were simply enduring Luigi’s presence for Chad’s sake, and the plumber’s fans saw right through their charade.  But two could play at that game, which meant that Luigi’s fans were enduring Chad’s fans’ passive-aggressive behavior for Luigi’s sake.

              The cheers lulled as the opposing team entered.  Both teammates wore identical outlandish outfits which showed off pecs and chest hair, with the message “HI I’M STEVE” emblazoned on the front.  The two guys were named Steve, but the one on the right preferred to be called Stevie to avoid confusion.

              “Hey, Steve!  Look who I’ve got!” Chad boasted to his opponents, who were good friends of his off the battlefield.

              “No way!  You’ve got _him_?” Stevie asked in disbelief.

              Chad shrugged.  “I can manage.  But it’s not all bad.  You’re gonna get rekt with his combos!”

              Steve snickered.  “I’d like to see him try!”

              Luigi, albeit agitated, said nothing.  He closed his eyes, retreated into himself, and took deep, long, focusing breaths.  He had a teammate who secretly hated his guts and two show-off opponents, but in Chad’s words, he could manage.  The introspection was what he needed for his body to fully awaken.  Despite how early it was, Luigi was gonna throw his mind and heart into this Team Battle!

              “Chad and Luigi—VS—Stevie and Steve!” boomed Master Hand’s voice, the cue for Luigi to open his eyes.

              Next to him, Chad ripped off his shirt to hoots from his own fans.  “Come and get some!” he boasted.

              Luigi, again, remained silent, took his stance and raised his fists, lancing his smoldering, steely stare into the two Steves.

              “3…2…1…GO!”

              While Chad raced into the fray with a loud, hammy battle cry, Luigi hung back for a while, throwing fireballs and leaping from platform to platform to isolate a Steve.  He saw Chad throw some subpar punches, but other than that, he was simply throwing verbal jabs at the two Steves and hamming it up for the audience.  Deftly, Luigi cartwheeled to another part of the stage where he wouldn’t have to see that ridiculous display and continued to flick out fireballs.  Finally, Stevie turned toward Luigi and lunged toward him with a sneer, but Luigi dodged the charge and grabbed him, raw adrenaline surging to life.

              “Oooh!  Now you’re gonna get it!” whooped Chad.

              Luigi ignored him, Ground-Pounding Stevie into a punishing combo, breathing still even.  Chad continued to taunt Stevie, but he should’ve been watching out for Steve, who was now trying to blindside Luigi and save his teammate.  Luckily, Luigi’s reflexes were sharp, allowing him to end his combo with a Cyclone, instead of a Super Jump Punch, like he’d planned.

              He launched Stevie away with a forward smash and then focused on Steve, snatching him before he could get away and giving him the down-throw treatment.  He knew Chad had seen this man trying to take a cheap shot at him.  He was at a close-enough range to stop him, but he chose not to, instead letting Luigi do all of the work.  So much for team spirit.

              However, he focused his spite on the opposing team, letting his well-practiced combos flow, forcing Steve to the edge of the stage and then grabbing the ledge to try and prevent the man from recovering.  When Steve tried to take back the ledge, Luigi spiked him with a down aerial, taking his stock.

              “NOOO!” wailed Stevie.

              “YEEEA!” cheered Chad as he took some perfunctory swings at Stevie to keep him engaged.

              Steve respawned and angrily stomped toward Luigi, fist raised, but Luigi darted in with several swift punches to the midsection, a chop to the neck and finally an elbow strike.  The last blow sent Steve flying toward Chad, who pelted him with kicks and insults.  Stevie then tried to attack the plumber, but paid for his recklessness with a full-powered Missile.  Luigi had aimed for a Misfire, but he took what he could get.  Stevie skittered across the ground toward Chad, who started kicking and insulting them both.  Finally, neither of them could take it anymore, and they got up, grabbed Chad, threw him down and stomped him repeatedly while he piteously screamed.  As much as Luigi wanted to watch his teammate get what was coming to him, he was a team player, and this was no exception.  He charged himself up again and rocketed into the two Steves, sending them flying.  He offered Chad his hand, but was brushed aside.  He shouldn’t have been surprised.

              Chad took Stevie’s stock with a heavy kick attack, while Luigi backflipped over Steve’s bodyslam attack, twisted his body so that he faced away from Steve and then thrust his legs out behind him in a reverse dropkick, stage-spiking Steve and taking his second stock.

              Steve had one stock remaining, while Stevie had two remaining.  Naturally, the two of them decided to direct their rage at Luigi, rushing him in tandem.  Chad made little to no effort to intercede.  Allowing two of his best friends to use his teammate as a punching bag was the perfect revenge for yesterday.  Unfortunately for the three of them, Luigi was never down for long, using his free-for-all skills to escape a tight situation.  He blasted air between his lips when he saw Chad just standing there with an irritating smirk on his face.  The man in green really wished his teammate would take the hint.  But these kinds of teammates rarely did.

Focusing back on the fight, he used his agility and long-ranged attacks to get one of the Steves off his back so he could whale on the other.  He decided to go for Steve, wanting the pleasure of taking his last stock.  With an up smash and a flip kick, he sent Stevie toppling onto one of the small platforms, deflected Steve's blows and set up a grab with a fireball to the face.

While Chad halfheartedly engaged Stevie, Luigi channeled his annoyance and aggravation toward his teammate into a zero-to-death combo against Steve.  He left no windows open for his opponent to escape.  First, he hacked away at Steve with flurries of karate chops, and once the guy was damaged enough, dished out some harder blows and kicks, spiking him against the floor with a down air to start a ground combo, knocking him out of the air when he tried to jump away, reading his dodges and baiting him into making mistakes.  He moved fluidly across the stage, drowsiness all but forgotten, wondering why on God's earth had Master Hand given him such a hateful jerk as a teammate and what in Star's name was wrong with these haters, and why did they have such a grudge against him?  What did he ever do to them?  Why was he treated this way?  Because they could?  That was a poor justification.

A determined smile crept across his lips as he threw out a jump-kick and re-grabbed Steve to continue his zero-to-death.  It was surprisingly easy for him to let out the rest of his feelings toward Chad, yesterday's diatribe in Master Hand's office receding with each strike he landed, his mind telling him to stop worrying about Chad's inaction and to start worrying on how the opposing team would take advantage of such inaction.  He knew why Chad was being so passive.  He was still miffed over being thrashed yesterday.  Well, Luigi did nothing wrong!  That was what the Training Room was for.  But, no.  It was so much easier for them to lay the blame on him, mope about it and complain to anyone who would listen.  His breath came a little fast as he felt himself getting riled up again, and he lit into Steve mercilessly.  The spectators' cries of encouragement echoed around the stage, creating a cone of sound.  Luigi's ears picked out the cheers for him, especially that familiar falsetto voice and those dulcet tones.  He'd completely lose it with these people if it weren't for those two!

Luigi was about to let himself go with Steve, but then he remembered that Stevie still had two stocks and that Chad was unlikely to do anything.  Throwing out fireballs to keep Stevie away, the man in green knew exactly what he was gonna do with his opponent.  He grabbed him once more and executed the 64 Throw, swinging him round thrice before hurling him off the stage with a slight grunt of effort.  He balanced himself on the ledge, watching Steve try to recover.  And when the timing was just right, Luigi did his signature bashful kick, sending his foe straight down into the blast zone.

"Player Four—defeated!" MH boomed to cheers from Luigi's fans.

Luigi spun on his heel and saw just what he expected to see—Chad getting in Stevie's face and then dancing just out of range, talking trash but barely even trying to land a blow on him.  Moving on the balls of his feet, the green plumber strode around the outer part of the stage, composing himself and getting some breath back.  Once he had a clear idea of his strategy, he positioned himself behind Stevie, charged up and let fly.

Wind shrieked past his ears before he slammed into Stevie's back, causing him to bend in two and fall backward.  Chad laughed, kicked Stevie in a distinctively southerly place and retreated, once again making Luigi do the actual work of taking the man's stock while shouting double-edged compliments to his friend.  The plumber didn't mind, though.  It was the perfect way for him to let his anger out.  No matter what the circumstances, Luigi never, ever showed hostility toward a teammate.  He never lashed out at them, he never belittled them, he never tried to blame them if they lost, and he always included them when celebrating a victory.  If he was frustrated over something, he always directed it toward the opposing team or more often than not focused it inward and used it to improve his skills.  He just wished some of his teammates would treat him the same way.

After a lengthy combo, Luigi sent Stevie skyward with a Super Jump Punch and casually blew a few stray strands of his hair from his face.  He was coated in sweat and extremely cross, a glaring contrast to Chad.  "Hey," he called, keeping his voice cordial, "you okay back there?"

"Yeah.  Are you?  I mean, they're really singling you out."

"I'm fine, thank you."

They turned toward Stevie as he respawned, glowering at Luigi.  "You're getting on my nerves," he spat.

"I have a knack for that," shrugged Luigi.

Stevie grinned.  "Not anymore."

He swung.  Luigi ducked, and it didn't take long for punches to fly between them.  The plumber's punches were fiery and fierce, aimed at Stevie midsection and trunk.  Finally, he smashed him with his Super Jump Punch, sending him reeling.

As Stevie landed, Luigi went in with a n-air, a jab and finally a grab.  He took a deep breath before commencing.  And he let loose with everything still stored up inside—the aches, the rawness, the frustration, the memories.  There was no denying how pleasurable that felt.  Blow after blow after blow, he let it all out.  His breathing was steady.  His movements were rhythmic.  The more exasperated he grew toward Chad, the better he fought.

For the grand finale, he dealt out a series of flip kicks to the stomach and then charged up a Missile in midair.  He waited until Stevie was at his level and then blasted off.  And it was a Misfire!  That was the final straw for Stevie, blowing him sky high and taking his final stock.

"GAME!  This game's winner is—Red Team!"

**1.1.1**

Chad didn't even acknowledge Luigi as their victory was formally announced in the Reception Area.  His friends high-fived him and patted him on the back as if he did something huge.  But he wasn't the one who did most of the fighting—Luigi was.  At least they had the decency to acknowledge that by playing his victory fanfare instead of Chad's.  But the moment was soon smothered when Chad started running his mouth about how he stood up to those two Steves and showed the world what he could do.  He didn't even shake Luigi's hand and thank him for the team-up.

As for the opposing team, they were good sportsmen with Chad, but they didn't bother to look Luigi's way.  The plumber watched the three of them make amends and walk off, arm-in-arm, feeling unappreciated and left out.  Setting his lips, he turned and went the opposite direction, towards the gym, stopping only to fetch his gym bag.

The place was close to empty when he arrived.  Luigi guessed that the Smashers watching him had to hurry off to their own bouts.  The emptiness suited him just fine.  After putting his stuff into a locker, he marched over to a spin bike, hopped on and plugged in his headphones.  As "Tanzmusik" by Kraftwerk began blaring into his eardrums, he selected the "rolling hills" program, set the workout level to the most strenuous he could tolerate, took off his shirt, grabbed the handlebars and began pedaling.

He stayed mounted on that spin bike for an hour and twenty minutes before he sweated out the worst of his foul mood.  Five minutes later, he dismounted, emptied his Gatorade and stared intently at his sweat-lathered reflection.  Then, he grabbed his shirt, and off he went to the Training Room.  His next bout, a one-on-one, was ninety minutes away, and he needed to warm up.

**1.1.1**

Luigi lost that one-on-one, but he came roaring back during the one after that, which was after lunchtime.  The antics of the victorious opponent gave him some added thrust, and his blood still boiled from that Team Battle and the spin bike workout which had followed it.  Between his lunch and his current bout, he'd given himself plenty of time for introspection with a Sandbag, and then with a sparring partner, in the Training Room.  By the time a Mii had called for him to get ready for his next match, the loss was out of his system.

This one took place on Lylat Cruise, the mere fact that it was a Star Fox stage making him think of Falco.  He was strangely absent from the stands during the Team Battle, either having a match or warming up for one.  But Luigi had glanced at the schedule beforehand and knew that the avian had plenty of time to watch before getting ready for his own bouts.  He knew perfectly well that his down-throw combos had something to do with his absence.  But he _did_ see him at lunch, conversing with Chad and the two Steves as if they were old friends.  The sight made Luigi further doubtful of Falco's remorse.

Luigi's thoughts of Falco were bad news for his opponent, Rolf, a Mii Gunner, who found himself buffeted by one combo after another.  His cannon projectiles offered him some respite, but the man in green could duck and dodge most of them or negate them with his fireballs.  He enjoyed frustrating this Gunner by flicking out fireballs as Rolf fired off his shots.  Fighters with projectiles had a bit of an advantage over him because they could exploit Luigi's notoriously bad approach, but Luigi wasn't one to throw up his hands and quit against a gunner-based opponent.  He'd studied and sparred with projectile-based fighters and think up of exercises to improve his approaching.  He'd start a match against a Gunner by fighting defensively and trying to fake the foe out.  They'd make him mildly flustered, but never for long.

Just like with Rolf.  It took a bit, but Luigi eventually figured him out.  Rolf's projectiles were mainly long-ranged, so Luigi stayed close, preventing his foe from putting up that aggravating Wall of Projectiles.  He kept the Mii busy with rapid yet hard-hitting punches and kicks, leaping into the air for an aerial attack whenever he tried to fire off a shot and then fast-falling to keep from losing the advantage.  Once the moment was right, he'd grab, and then not even Rolf's best projectiles could save him!

The sight of the plumber owning arguably one of the most expert Mii Gunners had tongues wagging in the stands.  Spectators whispered among themselves in disbelief, while some whooped and hollered for the man in green.  Rolf's fans were in a funk, wailing in anguish and screaming profanities at Luigi, profanities which the cheers from Luigi's fans gamely attempted to drown out.  Mario glared darkly at those cheering for Rolf, but he otherwise didn't engage them.  What good would that do?  He took a deep breath and turned away from them, deciding that the best way to repel their shenanigans was to cheer as hard as he could for his bro.  Which he did.

The spacey atmosphere of Lylat Cruise cast the spectator area in slight darkness, broken up only by the stage lights and the stars in the stage's background.  The stairs and walkways had special fluorescent lights in the case of an emergency.  For the occasion, folks had brought along glow-in-the-dark necklaces, bracelets, rings and hats.  The body-painters used special Glo-Paint.  The usual signs were recreated with Glo-Paint, as well.

Falco was the only one not lit up, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.  Part of him knew that not showing up for the Team Battle had been a mistake.  He knew of the two Steves' boastful reputation, and his presence would've bolstered Luigi further.  But he was in no mood to see those combos so early in the morning, and besides, his first match of the day had been a tough one, against Lucina.  He needed as much rest and practice as he could before he faced her.  Still, showing up at the Team Battle would've signaled Luigi that the avian was serious about patching things up.  He reminded himself to make this up to him someday.

For this battle, the avian sipped from an ice-cold glass of peach schnapps topped with a slice of pineapple and a cherry.  He thought quite highly of Rolf and didn't want him to lose, but unfortunately, that was shaping up to be the case.  If he did, then he'd bring him along to tonight's meeting.

The meeting.  D—n.  Falco was so hyped about it.  He'd already picked out what he was going to wear—a freshly dry-cleaned and ironed tuxedo, a top hat and a pair of sensible shoes.  He wondered if he should bring someone as his date—he didn't want word of this to reach the wrong ears.  But, man—he couldn't wait to see what the Bennigan Brothers and their friends were planning!  He'd get a little taste of perspective, and that would be the end of it.  He'd never think about it again, and he'd focus his energies on rebuilding his friendship with Luigi.

The sound of Luigi's breathing brought Falco's attention back to the fight.  He couldn't help but feel badly for poor Rolf as the man in green started to feint, making the Mii prematurely fire off his projectiles, and then dash in and grab as he tried to charge a second one.  He looked wonderful in the sea of stars, the clusters of light reflecting in his pupils and playing along his body as it slid and danced in that familiar way, resembling fireflies on the sleeves of his green shirt and moving through his hair like a loving hand.  But there was this—expression—on his face, alternating between a cool, determined smile and a deeply focused look with his mouth rounded.  Falco knew that he was fresh from a loss, and that nobody was going to let him forget about it anytime soon.  He prayed that he'd never find out that he was secretly glad that he lost, that he enjoyed seeing those combos of his fail him for once.  In that case, brawn had triumphed, and though Luigi had pulled every trick he could think of, he spent most of that fight being battered.  Which made it surprising that he had enough energy for this one.

The advantage swung like a pendulum between Rolf and Luigi.  The former was one persistent Gunner and managed to take a few of the latter's stocks.  But every passing minute gave Luigi more ideas on how to best Rolf.  His quick eyes recognized cues of what his foe was about to do.  His movements became more finessed until he found a weak point to exploit.  His attacks were crisp and forceful whenever he took the lead.  And whenever the lead was wrested from him, his jabs, kicks and flips kept the pressure on.  Rolf, however, was also learning.  He knew Luigi almost off the back of his hand.  He knew the different ways he tended to set up combos.  But he also knew of Luigi's poor grabbing range and his bad traction, using his own attacks to intercept grab attempts and moving about the stage, making the plumber slip and slide.  Rolf's fans giggled gleefully whenever this happened.  But alas, this only made Luigi think of more ways to trip up Rolf and set him up for grabs, which made Rolf further beef up his defense and offense, and around and around it went.  Luigi had faced many difficult opponents in the past, and not all of them were projectile-based.  Zero Suit Samus, for example, remained a tough match for him, and she was also brawler-based.  She'd win over him sometimes, and he'd win over her sometimes.  The odds were slightly tipped in her favor, but that wasn't enough to scare off the man in green.  And Rosalina, holy ravioli.  Rosalina, with her u-air that K.O'd at 60-something percent and the way she could sandwich him between her and Luma.  His matches with her were beyond frustrating.  But those two were good sports when it came to winning and losing.  Rolf, by the looks of things, wasn't that good of a sport.

Schnapps, vodka, lager and wine flowed among the fans of both fighters as the match grew more heated than ever.  Still nursing his own schnapps, Falco observed the undercurrents of frustration playing about Luigi's face.  Rolf was over 100% and still in the game.  The avian could understand why his green-clad pal was flustered.  He didn't outwardly express it, but the frustration was there.  When his fighting style became more graceful, meticulous and precise, that meant he was getting frustrated and he was fighting to keep it at bay.  But Falco _wanted_ Luigi to get frustrated.  He _wanted_ him to start making mistakes so that Rolf could clinch the win.  That ought to show him what happened when he relied too much on his godforsaken combos!

Meanwhile, in his usual spot, Mario was starting to fret.  Was Rolf too much for Luigi?  Was Luigi getting tired?  He'd lost a few stocks during this fight and took a lot of hits.  Rolf's fans were like a pack of ravening wolves, waiting for the kill, waiting to indulge in Luigi's second loss in a row.  But Jumpman wasn't about to lose hope.  He pushed his vocal chords further and further, seeking to be heard over Rolf's fans.  When his throat started to ache, he took a gentle sip of his vodka cranberry and encouraged with his eyes.  He, too, saw the signs that his baby bro was growing flustered.  Many opponents would try to provoke a full-on outburst, but Luigi was smart and never took the bait.  Still, the frustration pulsed under his skin and behind his eyes.  Mario was always concerned when he saw those pulses.

"Easy, Bro," he whispered.  "You've got this."

Peach rubbed his back, but said nothing.

"His arsenal's running, dry, eh?" Someone chuckled behind him.

Mario whipped around and fixed that person with a _look_.

"What?" The person asked innocently.  "It's true."

Peach laid her hand over Mario's.  The man in red slowly turned his attention back to the fight.  His Princess was right; reacting to such jabs wouldn't help Luigi win.  He entwined his fingers with Peach's and rested his head against her shoulder.

She kissed his forehead, causing his eyes to glaze over briefly.

"He's going to win this," she whispered to him.  "I can feel it."

Mario relaxed slightly.

"Those highfalutin combos aren't helping him now, are they?" Another voice piped up.

Mario tensed back up, tilting up his head from its place on Peach's shoulder to glare at the speaker.  However, he remained silent.

"Yeah.  The Lean, Green Combo Machine is getting whaled on!"

Now, it was Peach's turn to glare.

Something about her stare warned the two that they probably shouldn't crack wise about Luigi's misfortunes anymore, a warning they heeded for about a minute.  When Rolf started gaining the upper hand, they started laughing like hyenas.

"Look at the combo master now!"  The one on the left was holding his side from laughing so hard.

"Good ol' Rolf, reminding him of his place!" The one on the right added.

"About time someone did!"

They laughed again and blew raspberries at Luigi.  One row below them, Peach held Mario firmly, knowing perfectly well that he was bound to jump those two and start pounding on them.

"We love Rolf!  We love Rolf!"  The chant spread to the sections filled with Rolf's fans.  Thinking quickly, the Luigi fans twirled noisemakers, blew into horns and did their own chants to try and drown out the opposing noise.  Mario was now out of his seat, gripping the rails alongside Peach, shouting to Luigi as if he was a lighthouse and his younger brother was a little lost boat.  And there, he could see Luigi rallying—rallying hard.  Buying his time, searching for a dent in Rolf, patiently waiting, getting up after the Mii knocked him down.  He dished out pain from the air and Smash-attacked when he could.  Though he was trying to hide it, Mario could see that Luigi was considerably flustered at this point, from the multitude of sparks in his eyes to his lightly furrowed brow to the pastel-pink color of his face to the tongue raking his lips to his constantly-changing mouth position, sometimes rounded, sometimes clenched, sometimes in a singular tight smile.  From the veins pulsing on his forehead and temples to the vein pulsing on the side of his neck to the flaring nostrils and heaving chest as he breathed deeply.  Splatters of hair peeking out through his cap, but he'd simply blow them aside and continue the fight.  Rolf's shots and attacks left burn marks and bruises, but they didn't seem to hinder his movement.  He continued to throw out kicks, chops and fireballs, dodging, cartwheeling, dancing and responding to the cheers from both sides.

Ushers tried to stop him, but Mario was now slightly leaning over the railing as he sensed Rolf's advantage crumbling.  Rolf's fans also sensed it and snatched at their hair, but there was nothing they could do.  Luigi's hard-hitting blows doubled the Gunner over, allowing the plumber to steal the lead away.

Rolf never regained it after that.

Feeling his brother's emotions around him, Mario knew that this was going to be a kill combo.  He fell silent and eased off the railing (to the ushers' relief) as Luigi channeled the last of his aggravation and frustration into his foe, battering him from all directions.  He breathed in deep whistles.  He was shocked at how sharp he felt.  He couldn't get Chad, with his Harvard accent and snobby attitude, out of his mind.  That man could've at least said "thank you"!  But judging from the rant he'd overheard the other afternoon, Chad was glad to be free of Luigi after that Team Battle.  Still, his refusal to acknowledge his teammate's contributions acutely hurt the man in green.  Not even eighty minutes on a spin bike could get it out of his head.  Well, fine.  Luigi hoped never to be paired with him again, either.

Back in the stands, Falco groaned softly as he saw Luigi snatch the lead from Rolf and go for a kill combo.  He glugged down the rest of his schnapps and ordered another.  He had a good mind to bring Rolf along for the meeting.  The Mii always lit up a crowd outside of battles.  He was a geography buff and had plenty of maps in his room, maps which he enjoyed poring over.  He also liked fish and constantly reminded people that he liked fish.  Fish and maps, maps and fish.  Those were Rolf's greatest loves.  Still, everybody liked it when Rolf was around.

Yes, Falco would invite Rolf to the meeting tonight.  He'd let the guy vent a little and see if he wanted in on this scheme.  Maybe fish would be among the dinner entrees.

He couldn't watch as Luigi put the finishing touches on his combo and set up for the killing blow.  He just stared at his schnapps, listening to the thuds and breaths and cheers and sighs.  As mentioned before, he wasn't adorned with glowsticks or Glo-Paint, effectively concealing him in darkness.  But the darkness couldn't hide him from Mario's eyes.  He could still feel them in intervals throughout the match, especially when Luigi was on the defensive.  Heaven help him if Mario found out he was glad Luigi lost that earlier battle, and Heaven help him if Mario found out where he was going tonight.  That man just couldn't let bygones be bygones, could he?  Luigi let the incident go—maybe Mario should do the same.  But Falco ignored those eyes as he sucked on his schnapps, hearing the crowd hold their breath and then roar delightedly as Luigi landed a final solid hit on Rolf, sealing the fate of this matchup.

"GAME!  This game's winner is—Luigi!"

**1.1.1**

Luigi felt a little better after winning over Rolf.  He smiled and hummed to himself as he lathered and rinsed in the shower.  He was still humming when he stepped out, patted himself dry and slipped into a clean outfit.  His humming became whistling as he strode down the familiar hallway and paused at the familiar double-doors of Master Hand's office.  Falling silent, he knelt, pressed his left ear against the cool oak of the door and listened.

"Mr. Kanies, I understand your frustration..." Master Hand was saying.

"Oh, _do_ you?  Do you really understand what I had to go through to get selected for this tournament?  Do you understand the hours of rigorous training I put in?"

"Of course, I do, Mr. Kanies.  I selected you, didn't I?"

But Rolf was on a tear.  "God—mit!  I had him!  And I would've beaten him, if it weren't for those stupid f—ing combos!  I can't believe this!  I was thoroughly trounced by a scaredy-cat!  I hold Nintendo responsible for this, for inviting _him_ here!  My lovely winning streak—gone!  And it was broken by Player Two, of all people!  Of the fifty-something fighters on this roster, it had to be him!  I demand restitution for this humiliation!  How can I say hello to my friends and family after this?!  Even worse is the fact that most of the audience was on his side!"

Luigi popped a piece of hard candy into his mouth to keep from biting his lip.  He'd also brought a stress ball along.  Presently, he took it out of his pocket and squeezed.  Rolf's words sent a familiar thrill of pain through him, especially those three words— _stupid f—ing combos_.  He thought back to Falco, and the way he'd sulked in the stands on Lylat Cruise, drinking some cocktail, the only audience member not lit up in some fashion.  How close he sat to Rolf's fans, too!  Oh, he knew why he didn't watch that Team Battle, all right.  After spending a few days bringing him gifts and saying that he was sorry and asking for forgiveness, he sure wasn't contributing on his part.  Luigi leaned against the door, squeezing his stress ball, sucking on his candy, listening, and remembering to breathe.

"Mr. Kanies, I think you're blowing this out of proportion," said MH.  "One little loss won't hurt your record _that_ much."

"Won't hurt my record that much?!  B.S., Master Hand!  That plumber turned me into a laughingstock!"

"I wouldn't put it that way, Mr. Kanies.  Maybe this means you need some more practice."

"Well, _thank you_ for the public service announcement!" Rolf spat, storming over to MH's minibar and pouring himself a glass of bourbon.  "Stupid green plumber!"  He emptied half the glass in a big swallow and then refilled it.  "Not only did he break my winning streak, he beat up my two friends named Steve in the Team Battle this morning!  That f—face is all-around _cancer_!  I..." He started to blubber.  "I can't even stand looking at the president of my own fan club anymore!  And she must be disgusted over a man like _him_ getting the best of me, which makes me feel worse!  I can see the story hitting the Internet and the gossip columnists right now!  Oh, I bet those vultures are gonna get a real kick out of it!"

 _Yeah, that would be great, wouldn't it?_ Luigi thought, his candy sucked down to a thin sliver and his stress ball squeezed out of shape.  _And what if I brought you fan club president over here?  What would she think if she heard you ranting and raving like this?_

"Just look at the state of us," sniffled Rolf.  "I'm a freaking disgrace—I even repulse myself.  The King of Koopas put up a better fight than me."

 _Yeah, he did_ , thought Luigi.  A smile crept upon his face as he remembered that match, but it was short-lived.

"[ _Bleep_ ] this [ _bleep_ ].  Last I heard, Smash Bros was a gathering of champions, not a Boy Scout camp!  We might as well raze this place down and turn it into Weenie Hut, Jr.'s!  Or better yet, we can turn it into an amusement park—with kiddie food and kiddie rides!  That appears to be who you cater to, anyway!"

"I can assure you that this tournament is aimed at both kids and adults," said MH, "but you need to calm down and realize that Luigi has been at this longer than you.  His skills have improved, and that improvement may force you to change up your fighting style.  Besides, you still have some matches scheduled for today.  How about you hit the Training Room before your next one?"

"Yeah, I guess I should," sighed Rolf.  "Sorry I flew off the handle."

Still squeezing the stress ball, Luigi rose, shook some feeling back into his legs and also went to prepare for his next bouts, Rolf's tirade still in his head and playing over and over and over and over...

**1.1.1**

"We need to amp up our efforts," Manny was saying.  "The situation is only getting worse."

"Manny, we have our best people working our butts off," said Kyle.

"What have we done so far besides sign people up?" Challenged Manny.  "My brothers and I are looking for results—real, live results!"

"So far, Master Hand has only dismissed our complaints," sighed Marth.  "All he does is make promises to placate us and then shoo us away."

"Then we should stop presenting them as complaints," said Vincent.

"Or go to someone else besides Master Hand."

Everyone turned at the voice.  Falco sat there, wearing his suit, with Rolf as his plus-one.

"Falco?" Roy gasped.

"Hi, guys," smiled Falco.

"Gentlemen, I believe I told you about Falco Lombardi," Marth said to the Bennigan Brothers.

"We spoke via email," said Manny.  "How do you do, birdie?"

"Good, and you?"

"Could be worse," shrugged Manny.  "Now, what were you saying?"

"I can't help but notice that the first thing we do is go to Master Hand," said Falco.

"He's the master-of-ceremonies.  He's the one who invites people," said Chad.

"But he doesn't control the mechanics of the tournament.  The higher-ups at Nintendo do."

"The higher-ups are states away from us," huffed Dark Pit.  "We don't have the time to drive, much less book a flight or a train, to try and talk with them."

"Then—the way you're approaching it with Master Hand is wrong," said Falco.  "How do you expect him to listen—or take your complaints seriously, for that matter, if all you do is yell at him?"

"We yell at him because we're angry," said Stevie.

"And who are you angry at?  Luigi or Master Hand?"

Silence.

"At—Luigi," said Rolf.

"Okay—then maybe we should direct our anger at Luigi, rather than at Master Hand."

"And invite Mario's wrath?  No, thank you," sniffed Steve.

"No, not like that.  We can channel our anger at Luigi into our efforts to get his stupid down throw nerfed.  We're just wasting time by screaming at Master Hand, hoping he could do something."

 _That's a good point_ , mused Mewtwo, _but how can we_ make _him do something?_

Falco grinned.  "Why, be polite, of course."

"Are you expecting us to say 'please'?" Asked Marth

"I'm expecting you to be professional about it," said Falco.  "Instead of screaming and cursing about it, act calmly and courteously about it.  Present an argument that Luigi's playstyle needs to be changed, and use supporting facts to explain why.  MH communicates regularly with the higher-ups and often sends our suggestions to him.  In fact, there's a big 'suggestion box' sitting near his office.  Just write what you think needs changed on a slip of paper, and drop it in.  Like I said, channel your anger into your efforts to do something about it instead of take it out on poor Master Hand."

Murmurs.

"Falco—that doesn't sound half-bad," said Vince, "but—you live in the Smash Mansion with Luigi, and your relationship with him is still on unstable ground as it is.  How can you and the other Smashers go about this business without being spotted?"

"Just be very sneaky," offered Koopa, "that's what I'd do."

"Well, when we write our notes for the suggestion box, they're completely anonymous," said Falco, "and maybe we can all slip them in when Luigi is fighting his matches.  And Mario, too," he quickly added.  "Mario, too."  He shuddered at the name.

"What?  Are you scared of that midget?" Snickered Shane.

"Hey!  He's not a midget, all right?  He's a capable fighter.  Just ask him."  He motioned toward Koopa.

Koopa solemnly nodded.  "He's telling the truth, and I've got the aches to prove it.  I fought him this afternoon, after Green 'St—Luigi—battled Rolf."

"He's right, Shane," intoned Vince, "Mario's nobody to laugh at.  If he gains wind of this—it's over."

More silence.

"Who wants a drink?" Asked Falco, breaking the tension.

"Hear, hear!" Laughed Roy.

The conspirators loosened up as corks popped and the alcohol of choice flowed.

"You know what I'm gonna do?" Asked Chad.  "I'm gonna write my congressman and tell him that the next time a fighting tournament comes up, ban Luigi!"

Laughter.

"Hey Falco, who's the fresh face you brought along?" Asked Manny.

"This is Rolf Kanies, Mii Gunner extraordinaire," said Falco.  "We need to do something special for him.  Could you have your cook prepare a platter of fresh fish for him?"

Rolf beamed.

"We sure can," nodded Manny.  "I'll go put that order in."

"And—someone bring him a map," added Falco.  "He likes maps."

"What's your story, Rolf?" Shane wanted to know.

"Luigi beat me," Rolf stated simply.  "It was an important match, and he beat me.  It cost me a lot of respect as well as my winning streak!"

"Well, you came to the right place," said Vincent.  "We've assembled here to try and do something about it."

"You think Master Hand will be friendly to our cause?" Rolf arched an eyebrow.

"If we present it to him in the right way," said Falco.

"We also have an inside man on our side," said Shane.  "He's Crazy Hand, MH's twin.  He'll take care of our venues, our expenses, our funding—the whole nine yards."

"Interesting," said Rolf.

"Help us get rid of the down throw combos, and we'll give you as much fish as you can eat," said Vincent.

"Then I'm in," grinned Rolf.

Manny returned with a big, steaming plate of recently-caught fish with all the fixings.  "Welcome to the club, Mr. Kanies," he said, setting the plate before a now-salivating Rolf.

**1.1.1**

Music played on low volume in Mario's room as the man in red lounged with a glass of wine.  He'd kicked off his brown boots to reveal blue socks with Invincibility Stars on them.  Presently, he was on his bed, staring out the window at the lit-up Smash Realm, just starting his second bottle of wine.  His thoughts, however, weren't on the scenery, but on Luigi.

Today had been a rough day for him.  His teammate, Chad, had treated him like absolute garbage that morning.  Then, there was the loss, and then there was the behavior during and after the match against Rolf.  Mario had never seen such a show of open contempt and hostility toward his little brother before in his life.  They even had the nerve to try and crowd out the Reception Area as Luigi's victory was formally announced, giving him all sorts of grief.  Luigi ignored it, though, braved through it with a happy face, and went off to freshen up.  The rest of his bouts were nothing short of taxing, both physically, emotionally and psychologically, as most of the audience was tipped in the opponents' favors.  In between matches, Mario saw Luigi in the Training Room, practicing and/or letting the rage out.  When the two locked eyes, no invitation needed to be extended as the Bros engaged in a spar.  So, that was how Luigi had spent the day.  Fighting opponents who looked down on him and sparring with his brother.  After the matches ended for the day, he took a nap, joined the Smashers for dinner and hung out with friends until it was bedtime.

But Mario couldn't sleep.

He sipped his wine, smacking his lips at the bittersweet taste.  He couldn't help but worry about Luigi and how he was taking the backlash against his combos.  Publicly, he put on a happy face, but Mario saw right through him.  All brothers did, didn't they?  The tantrums and complaints were finally getting to him, and they both knew it.  Why couldn't they appreciate his fighting skills, rather than spit on them?  And why did Luigi insist on listening in on the rants in MH's office, tormenting himself with that nonsense?  Did he see it as some sort of motivation?  The more people said he couldn't do something, the harder he worked at accomplishing it.  But for as long as he could remember, Mario had watched Luigi from a distance, kneeling beside those double-doors, listening to the endless rants.  Zeroing in on the expressions on his face.  Today, he'd sucked furiously at a piece of hard candy and squeezed a stress ball, but when he got up, the tension was still there.  Mario wished there was something he could do to end this garbage, but if he confronted them directly, things would get out of control and create a bigger mess!

Twirling the stem of his glass, Mario felt the creeping rage.  It was his turn to bite his lip and taste his blood.  His face was hot and his jaw was painfully clenched.  There was so much rage.  So much rage.  He thought about Falco, huddled in the stands and downing drink after drink, pretending to root for Luigi, but Mario knew better.  He thought about Chad, and his seething words yesterday and what a lousy teammate he'd been toward Luigi.  He thought about Steve and Stevie and their antics, and about Rolf and how he'd called Luigi "cancer".  But most of all, he thought about Falco.

That bird wasn't sorry for what he said.  Where was his remorse when he watched Luigi's matches in the stands?  Where was his remorse after the rants in MH's office?  The thought that Falco, a good friend, a Brooklyn buddy, had reamed out Luigi over his down throw made Mario's head spin.  He breathed deeply and took several sips of wine, but the rage continued to pulse.  Luigi had sounded so broken when he confessed what had transpired between him and the avian.  And Falco—he was cozying up to Luigi every chance he got, but blatantly avoiding Mario--and Peach.  Was he afraid of them?  He probably was.  Peach might be snatched on a whim by a certain reptile, but she came down hard on those who dared disrespect her constituents.  And Mario—especially Mario.  He'd always find out if someone messed with his brother, and from that moment on, he was in their every nightmare.  Falco's actions served to make Mario angrier and angrier, and combined with his deep love for Luigi, he was bad news for the avian.  Soon, there would be nowhere for him to run and nowhere for him to hide.  His day would come.  And Mario would enjoy every second of it!

He forced his thoughts back to Luigi.  Getting violent with Falco wouldn't help him recover.  It wouldn't help him brave what these people were doing to him.  No matter what, his brother came first—even before himself.  Mario sighed and closed his eyes, seeing the look on his brother's face as he knelt beside MH's door, as he told him about Falco's blow-up at him.  He couldn't fight it—couldn't fight the rage.  The big brother instinct.  Anyone who hurt Luigi hurt Mario, as well.  And he wanted to confront them all and hurt them right back.  But they weren't worth it.  They just weren't.

The whirring of gears filled his memory, and he remembered that Luigi didn't just nap and hang around with friends after the day's matches were over.  Mario had gotten his brother a spin bike for his birthday, which was proudly on display in his room.  Every chance he got, Luigi would put that bike to good use.  And that afternoon, Mario had peeped in and saw the man in green astride the cycle, his shirt casually tossed onto the bed, gripping the handlebars and pedaling at a brisk pace.  Posture straight, shoulders relaxed, the cord from his earbuds dangling and bouncing like a bungee cord as his upper body weaved to and fro.  Eyes fixed on the cycle's monitor, mouth rounded or in a smile.  At first, the sweat dripped from his nose and his elbows, but as he worked himself harder and harder, it began flying everywhere.  Occasionally, he'd trail a finger or two over his brow or sweep some hair out of his face, but he didn't stop pedaling.  He'd slow to a moderate pace for a few minutes before jumping right back into his workout.  His breathing in those bursts and the gears whirring and the sweat dripping and sliding off him and slathering him.  The muscles along the edges of his body working and the well-built shoulders winking in the light.  Mario had watched his brother work out for a while, getting the toxins out, and late at night, glass of wine in hand, the sight of him came back.  He wondered what his bro was thinking about, mounted on that bike.  He wondered if the vigorous physical exercise helped calm him down.  He wondered...

He wondered if this was how it felt, being kept awake by his thoughts.

Mario refilled his glass and once again brought it to his lips, savoring the taste and the tingle of the wine.

He leaned back and listened to his music playing.

And he said a silent prayer for his baby bro.

 

  



	13. T Minus 19 Days

There were no matches that morning.  The fighters were dressed in black, and primly seated in the Smash chapel, with MH floating at the pulpit.  Bitter enemies came together in grief and remembrance for the victims of 9/11.  It had been fourteen years—fourteen years since that devastating terrorist attack on American soil.  Fourteen years since the Twin Towers crashed down.  Fourteen years since an ordinary day turned into a haunting nightmare.

The fact that it occurred in New York City was especially hard-hitting for the Mario Bros.  They grew up there.  The Twin Towers were a fixture of their early life.  And now they were gone—

They remembered the morning of September 11, 2001 quite well.  The two of them, along with Yoshi and a few other MK denizens, were in Peach's castle, enjoying cakes and tea and discussing local happenings.  Then, a Yellow Toad had charged into the room, looking panicked, screaming for them to turn on the TV.  So, they did.  And then they saw it—the images of black smoke pouring out of the South Tower as the anchor talked of how a plane crashed into it.  They'd found it quite odd, a plane crashing into that building—unless the pilot had been drowsy, or a mechanical error or _something_...

And then, right before their eyes, another plane had swooped into the shot and slammed hard into the North Tower.  The room had exploded in chaos.  Peach had nearly fainted.  Daisy had a hand over her mouth.  And Luigi's heart had stopped cold.

This had been no accident.

Once she'd recovered, Peach got on the phone, barking orders to the commanders of her armed forces.  Then, she ordered all airports, train stations, ports and bus stations, as well as national landmarks, closed until further notice.  Several of her bodyguards arrived to whisk her and Daisy to a safe location—and that was when it felt real.

After making calls to old friends and relatives in New York, the Bros had joined their Princesses, crowding around the small TV set, watching, holding their breath, waiting.  It was just after ten in the morning when the South Tower collapsed into a sickening plume of smoke.  By then, the Pentagon had also been targeted, leading everyone to wonder what landmarks would be next.

The panicked voice over the phone as the North Tower went down would forever be seared into their memories.  So would the tons upon tons of crashing steel and debris.  So would the voices of the anchors, struggling to keep their composure at the tragedy unfolding before them.

Shortly thereafter, Peach had delivered a tearful address to her constituents, leading them all in a moment of silence and then lowering all flags to half-mast.  The rest of the day had been declared a day of mourning.

But they also remembered the images of the firefighters giving their lives to save those in the Towers.  The passengers of Flight 93, sacrificing themselves to save the White House from an aerial strike.  And the shot of Lady Liberty, still standing tall despite the chaos.

Fourteen years later, the Smashers still remembered the devastation, loss and sacrifice of that terrible day.  Which was why MH was currently leading them in prayer.  Prayer for the victims and for the traumatized survivors.  There were other fighters who remember where they were when it happened.  Tearful glances were exchanged, even among the cruelest villains.  Koopa and Peach had marched side-by-side in a candlelight vigil that night.  He prayed that neither she nor those plumbers would find out that he'd planned an invasion that morning.

An unspoken détente also existed between Luigi and his detractors.  After the service had concluded, Chad had walked over and put his arm around the plumber.  Then, Falco approached.

"It's sad, isn't it?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"I was doing a training exercise with Fox.  Normal day, normal life." Falco took a breath.  "Then, Peppy ordered us back to base and told us about the initial crash.  We started watching the reports, gathering information—something told me to call my folks there and see if they were all right.  But before I could—the second plane hit.  A terrorist attack was unfolding right in front of me.  I'd never felt such helplessness."

"Neither had I," said Luigi.

"We talked about flying in for a rescue mission.  By the time we got there, it was chaos.  The South Tower was down.  Peppy told us to save as many as we could.  I still think we could've done better.  There was dust and smoke and screaming—I thought I could see a few who jumped from the Towers.  We barely made it out in time to escape the North Tower collapsing.  The rest of the day, I was in shock, and I knew that Fox and Peppy and Slippy and Kat and Krystal were in shock, too."

"We all were," nodded Chad.

"How about you, Chad?" Luigi ventured to ask.

"A few of my relatives were working that morning," murmured the New Englander.  He looked at his feet and added, "They didn't make it out."

"I'm so sorry," gasped Falco.

"I'm really sorry, Chad," added Luigi.  _That still doesn't give you the right to treat me the way you did..._

"And I guess that's why I've spent most of my life punk-sore at the world," shrugged Chad.

"It wasn't your fault," counseled Luigi.  "Nobody saw it coming."

"For the record, I'm seeing a therapist," said Chad.  "L—did you and your family make it out all right?"

"Physically, yes," Luigi quietly responded.

"This world is just so messed up," lamented Chad.

Falco nodded.  "But 9/11 also brought us together."

"Yeah," mused Luigi.  "It did."

"And L...?" Chad spoke up.

"Yes?" Asked Luigi.

Chad opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come.  "I—never mind," he sighed dejectedly.

Luigi had a hard look for him.  He knew what he was trying to say.  Was it pride holding him back?

Falco cleared his throat.  "Yeah—I'm glad things turned out well for you, Luigi," he said.

"Look at us," he went on.  "We've been through so much, and we're still standing.  You said yourself that Smash has become an 'is' lately."

"That's true," Luigi said crisply.

"Smart man," nodded Chad.  "Look—uh—I gotta get ready for my matches.  See you round."

"Yeah.  See ya," echoed Falco.

"Bye," murmured Luigi as they left.  Conflicting feelings toward both Chad and Falco swam in his mind.  The former looked remorseful for his past behavior and showed a side to him never before seen.  And the latter—comforting him on this grim anniversary made him think there was a chance for them after all.  But what they did was something he couldn't let go of so easily.  He was unsure of what to do regarding them.

Turning on his heel, Luigi exited the chapel to prepare for his own bouts.  He was sure he'd have it all straightened out by the end of the day.

**1.1.1**

Fighting commenced after lunch, and with the exceptions of Chad and Falco (or maybe just Chad), the temporary truce between Luigi and the haters had gone bye-bye.  From his first bout that afternoon, the raging over his down throw surged in.  It hummed silently around the battle stage and in the stands before going nuclear in MH's office.  A lot of people hadn't followed Falco's advice, it seemed.

Luigi's final match of the day began at 4p.m. sharp, and he took the opportunity to let out the last of his energy.  Most of the Smashers had concluded their day's butt-kicking and were now relaxed in the stands, watching him.

Falco was among them.

This time, he was seated at the far right, sipping a martini.  His mind was still wrapped up around that tragic morning and the senseless loss of life.  Why did they do this?  What were they trying to prove?  Even Wolf and Andross wouldn't do that—would they?  Hopefully, the villains of the Nintendo multiverse had some shred of decency—aside from forcing affections of lovely Princesses, but still!

A collective exclamation brought him back, and he groaned quietly as Luigi sent his foe flying off the stage, courtesy of his—no, no, don't go there, you've done enough damage!  The heat started in his stomach and spread to the back of his neck and his cheeks, like a fever.  He couldn't stop it.  It would always be there.  Falco finished his martini and ordered another, with a few extra olives.  It wasn't his fault that he blew up that afternoon—it was because of those combos.  It was because of them he got frustrated and made that mistake!  All because of them!

By now, the avian was convinced that the only way to save his friendship with Luigi was to see Project Nerf through to the end.  Without those frustrating combos, everything would be forgiven and forgotten.  Everything would go back to normal without those combos.

Ah, Project Nerf.  It was a reason to get up in the morning.  It was a reason to risk everything and mosey on down to see the Bennigan Brothers.  It was a reason to smile.  It made tomorrow all right.  What did Falco have nowadays?  Why should he even keep fighting in these things in the first place?  He fought till he needed ice packs everywhere, but why should he?  Mario ceaselessly reminded him that he was treading through a minefield with him.  He wasn't sure on the state of his relationship with Fox and the other Star Fox crew, but he knew it had changed.

Falco liked the way he felt.  He liked thinking about the prospect of contributing to great change in this tournament.  He liked counting the days until those combos were no more.  Now, when he got the sun, he smiled.

As for Luigi, the rigorous exercise served to help clear his thoughts about Falco and Chad.  The latter was still friendly after lunch, even inviting him to train together.  Chad had brought him a shaving cream gifted to him by a train attendant, which smelled like vanilla and spun sugar.  He'd said it was from this "Dollar Shave Club" which was popular nowadays.  And they'd played table tennis together during a break between bouts.  Table tennis was one of Luigi's favorite sports!  Falco however, was just—being Falco.  Smiling at him and making small talk and sitting off to the side, nearly out of eyeshot.  And that was saying a lot about him compared to Chad, who was seated in the center row!

Chad was the true remorseful one, not Falco.  Falco had just gone through the motions hoping for a one-way ticket out.  But Chad—after they bonded earlier this morning, his tune regarding Luigi had radically changed.  Time would tell whether or not it was permanent.

Luigi caught his foe out of thin air and butt-slammed him once more.  He worked him with combo after combo.  He felt the hate, but he also felt the support.  It was the support with helped fight the hate.  Without it, it would break him down, destroy him.  If not for his supporters, he would've lashed out at his detractors years ago!

But...

Now wasn't a good time to think of such things.  This opponent liked getting in Luigi's face, escaping his combos, growling threats at him and aiming blows at his head.  A dirty fighter.  But the man in green wasn't about to fall to his standards.  He'd dodged and blocked his attacks and returned with sharp blows to the abdomen.  He used air attacks to try to extend combos, with varying degrees of success.  He threw fireballs and cartwheeled to safety.  But he held on to his lead, as slim as it was.  It was only a one-stock lead, in serious danger of becoming a tie.  The opponent's blows had Luigi's damage in the red—he was in screaming pain and could barely see.  Yet nobody could tell, thanks to how acrobatically he was moving.  The sight of his opponent, through a red haze, going in for the kill, was enough to keep his body in motion, defying the pain and refusing to panic.  He steeled his face and kept up a solid defense, making his blows just as hard, maybe harder.  He wanted to start breathing through his mouth, but he dared not.  There was a cruel twinge to his opponent's smile, and he wanted to deny the guy the satisfaction of seeing that he'd worn him down.

Chad wore a concerned look as he watched the fight.  If he'd watched this two days ago, then he'd be happy that Luigi was being creamed.  But now—he _wanted_ Luigi to win.  He _hated_ what these characters were saying about him.  And—he felt guilty about that Team Battle.  Last afternoon, he couldn't stop thinking about it.  How he'd sneaked a look at his teammate after walking off with the two Steves.  L had done most of the fighting, after all, while Chad just threw a measly punch or kick or two and mocked the opposition.  And the plumber looked upset that Chad hadn't acknowledged him.  No doubt, it reminded him of the situation he faced day to day in his home universe.  An uncomfortable feeling manifested itself, a feeling he'd tried to ignore so he could enjoy that night's meeting and console Rolf, but he found that he could barely sleep that night.  He had strange dreams.  And when he awoke this morning—he'd been reborn.  He realized that his actions were wrong, and he needed to make up for them—but how?

It wasn't too late to break Project Nerf's hold on him.  He could leave while he still had the chance.  Because once he was mired too deep—he didn't dare finish that sentence.

Chad was seated five or so rows behind Mario, so he could only see the back of his head.  _Thank God_ , he thought to himself.  Facing Mario would be a major hurdle in his endeavors to clean up his act.  Now that he'd seen how he'd hurt Luigi, he'd also seen how he'd hurt those close to him.  Especially his big bro.  He'd still be critical of Chad for days, as with all elder brothers.  He wasn't looking to let go of Falco's actions anytime soon, which was pretty cold comfort for Chad.

As Luigi ran through strategy after strategy, pushing on against his opponent and refusing to lose quietly, Chad found himself asking an important question: _What am I doing with my life?_   He was born rich, grew up rich, graduated from a prestigious college, only to do—what?  Turn his nose up at people?  Take what he had for granted?  Chad had been so busy moving through his life that he hadn't paused and appreciated things.  Luigi was someone to appreciate, with a kind and noble heart, and a team spirit like no other, but Chad didn't care, because he was miffed over being bested by a plumber!  He felt guiltier just thinking about it.  Maybe he could do something nice for the Mario Bros sometime.

He could start by taking a risk and leaping off the ship that was Project Nerf.  He was sure that Falco, Shane, Manny and Vince would understand.

"Come on, Luigi," he whispered.  "You can beat this."

In contrast to Chad, Falco was drinking in Luigi's diminishing advantage.  He was playing the drinking game to each time the opponent escaped those combos.  He was reveling in the thinly veiled pain he saw on Luigi's face.  That was what he got for relying on them too much!  His smile was masked by his martini glass, but the enjoyment was there.  The avian wanted to start shouting praise to the other guy, but he dared not.  He couldn't afford to let anyone, especially Mario, see how happy he was at Luigi's misfortune.

The opponent came in with a punch so savage that everyone in the back rows heard the impact.  Luigi's fans shouted in outrage, and Peach had her hands clasped over her mouth.  Mario went pale, but some color returned to his face when he saw that Luigi had gotten back up and surprised his foe with a sweep attack.  Everyone held their breath, but then released it in relief at the sight of the man in green, still on his feet.

Even Falco had been shaken by the punch.  It reminded him that Luigi was still his friend, and he still had some making up to do.  The plumber looked terrible, too!  Bloodied, bruised, fatigued.  But holding on to his stock, for if he lost it, then it would bring the match to a tie, and the opponent could take the lead at any moment.

The avian turned deep red as he, for the gazillionth time, felt Mario's eyes.  Mario's eyes penetrated his façade so easily, reading his enjoyment and using it as fuel for their master's anger.  The sea-blue eyes roasting him like Thanksgiving dinner, questioning, accusing, judging, condemning.  Especially in the seconds after that punch.  The sound rippled through his eardrums, yet he could still feel their eyes and their increasing intensity.  He'd caught him; he knew he was happy that this man had punched Luigi like that.  But was he really?  He'd never wish permanent bodily harm on Luigi.  He only wished something to be done about his down throw.

Falco murmured a prayer and took a gulp from his martini.

Mario's heart was going about 150 bpm.  He held Peach's hand as he sought to calm down from the punch.  But what a punch!  It had slammed into Luigi like a delivery truck and nearly threw him across the stage!  It was only for a few seconds, but the man in green was sprawled where he'd landed, on his back, chest heaving, mouth wide open, pain-filled eyes staring at the ceiling, a sight forever seared into his elder brother's memory.  That was when he'd swept his legs, knocking the opponent off-balance, and hopped back up before returning the punch with a surprisingly hefty one and then moving with such energy that Mario could almost forget that he'd taken a lot of damage.  He flipped.  He cartwheeled.  He rolled.  He somersaulted.  And he darted in with punches and kicks and chops and tried to grab.  He failed, but he kept trying.  He'd never lose faith in his combos or his grab, despite its lousy range.  And Mario focused his gaze on his little brother, almost looking _through_ him, his hand still clasped in Peach's, putting as much love as he could into his gaze.  And he knew Luigi could feel it.

"Don't give up, L," he quietly exhorted.  "Don't give up."

A bolt of hate suddenly went through him as he spotted Falco in his peripheral vision, trying to hide a look of satisfaction.  Satisfaction!  And he was supposed to be Luigi's "friend"?  He'd occupied the man in red's thoughts during his wine-filled night yesterday, wrestling with the anger and finding it growing instead.  Falco's behavior was getting worse and worse, from making petty gestures to actively rooting against him in a Smash battle.  Scolding himself to take the high road as the bittersweet liquid poured down his throat, the liquid which only stimulated the feelings inside.  He tried to tell himself that his attitude only made things harder for Falco, but it was no use.  The special kind of anger reserved for elder brothers was alive in him, simmering just below the surface of his skin.  Even after a night of sleep and a morning of solemn remembrance, it was still there, and it was Mario's mere pleasure which kept it hidden.

His thoughts were drifting.  They couldn't drift—not now.  They could drift later, but not when Luigi was embroiled in such a fight, having taken such a punch and then spent precious seconds laying on the ground _like that_.  Mario fought to ignore Falco sitting there with his martini and instead zeroed in on Luigi, as if his mind suddenly developed a camera's zoom function.  His body leaned forward, and he had to remind himself to breathe.  And there was Luigi, his body whippet-quick, lashing out with a Smash attack and knocking his opponent onto his back.  He managed to get to one knee before Luigi's grab helped him the rest of the way up.

"No fair..." The opponent squeaked.

Luigi resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he came back with his down throw, bringing his fans back to life.  Mario nearly cried in relief, his hold on Peach's hand relaxing.  Biting back the pain, Luigi started tacking on damage with a powerful combo.  Of course, he'd planned this.  He sometimes liked tricking his foes into thinking he was on the ropes and then surprising them when they went to take his stock.  This one had nearly taken him down, but the man in green didn't let him.  He'd kept his wits about him and found his way out, getting his advantage back on track with a zero-to-death.  He blushed when he heard his fans explode in cheers.

The opponent was scarlet in the face as he respawned.  He _had_ Luigi!  He was so close to taking the lead!  But like always, that plumber and his combos took it from him!  His jaw ground with rage as he glowered at Luigi, but the green-clad plumber squared his shoulders and gave a defiant stare in return.  He felt the gazes of the spectators backing him up.

He raised his fists as the opponent charged.  He crisply dodged and then blinded the other fighter with a flurry of punches to the face and abdomen.  Without hesitation, he grabbed and then started another combo.

The combos kept coming, and he knew his fans were eating them up.  What surprised him was that Chad was enjoying them, too.  In a fortnight, he'd switched sides.  How come?  Did he realize how his actions hurt him?  Or did he belatedly decide to appreciate his abilities after their Team Battle?  Luigi knew that there was more to Chad than just a snobby, salty opponent; he could see it in his eyes.  _Something_ or _someone_ had gotten through to him, for he was sitting with Luigi's fans, wearing a simple green cotton V-neck with beige shorts and sneakers.  There had been worry on his face when Luigi's advantage nearly slipped.  Two days ago, he was jeering him, but now, he was cheering him!  Luigi decided that when Chad finally decided to apologize, then he was going to accept the apology and welcome him as a new friend.

He wished Falco would follow Chad's example.  The avian insisted that he wanted to reconcile, but why were they drifting further apart?  Why was he sulking every time he saw those combos?  Why wasn't he there during that Team Battle?  Why didn't he visit him in Dr. Mario's office after that match against Chad?  There were so many "why's" floating around regarding Falco, threatening to revive his anger.  They hadn't seen each other since the night they'd shared ice cream and Luigi had asked Falco why he'd reacted with anger and frustration after losing to him, and all Falco could do was say that he was sorry.  Since then, Luigi didn't have the heart to invite him back, and Falco had never answered his question.  But Chad—that morning, Chad had wanted to apologize.  He'd tried to take the opportunity.  But maybe he needed time to shake his pride.  Luigi was holding out hope that Chad would apologize to him later today, or tomorrow, or sometime this week, this month, this year—this lifetime.

Maybe he never would.

Maybe Falco wasn't sorry for his words, after all.  Maybe Luigi needed to move on from him, period.

The onslaught of thoughts about Falco and Chad sent a new wave of energy washing over him.  He licked his lips and threw everything into this last combo.  His foe was on his last stock, finally, and he was so consumed with frustration that he was making critical mistakes.  That suited the plumber just fine.  His strikes grew fiercer and fiercer, and whenever the guy tried to escape, Luigi just grabbed him again.  In the stands, his fans went wild, even Chad.  Falco just sat there morosely.

Finally, Luigi threw his foe in the air, jumped and then mashed into him with a Cyclone, the last hit sending him off the stage and costing him the match.

"GAME!  This game's winner is...Luigi!"

**1.1.1**

"That was way too close!" Exclaimed Chad as he met Luigi outside his room after the latter showered.  "We didn't think you were gonna make it!  But you beat him!  You're a superstar!"

"Thanks," said Luigi.

"Hey—some friends and I are going out tonight.  Wanna come?"

Luigi smiled at him.  "I'll think about it."

Chad nodded.  "Way to kick butt.  See you later."

He watched as Luigi walked toward Master Hand's office.

"Soon," the New Englander promised himself.  "Soon."

Meanwhile, Luigi arrived at the office to find it surprisingly quiet.  The voice on the other side was strangely calm as he spoke to Master Hand.  It wasn't bound to last long.  Luigi made himself comfortable in his usual spot and listened in on the conversation.

Inside, Master Hand sat calmly as the man before him emptied his minibar, one glass at a time.  "I take it you're not used to losing?" He asked.

The man paused only to shake his head, and then resumed downing drinks.

"What is it with my fighters and losing to Luigi?"

"Why, MH, I thought the answer was obvious," shrugged the man.  "It's not just that I lost to him—it's the fact that _he_ , of all people, beat me.  In front of my friends, my family—wow."  He drained a few more glasses.  "I don't run around and scream in haunted mansions.  I'm not a sidekick.  I'm the one who sits at the wheel.  Luigi—sits as fa-a-a-a-a-a-a-r back in the vehicle as possible.  I think it's obvious as to who should have won this fight."

"Oh, dear..." Grumbled MH.

"Hey, uh, if you or Crazy Hand or anyone else are contemplating giving me a consolation prize, I have one," said the vanquished opponent, who we'll call Chase.  "I'd like that green plumber brought to this office tonight.  I want him brought from his mysterious haunted mansion, where he's no doubt celebrating his victory over me with his brother and those princesses and those talking mushroom-heads, and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head.  And I want to look him straight in the eye..." Chase's voice started steadily rising, "...and I want to tell him what a stupid, cowardly, no-good, rotten, flour-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, d—less, hopeless, heartless, fat—s, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, scaredy-cat, worm-headed sack of monkey [ _bleep_ ] he is!  Hallelujah!  Holy [ _bleep_ ]!  Where's the Tylenol?"

"Chase..."

Cursing, Chase threw the glass full of spirits at the wall, shattering it into pieces and making a dark stain.  "I!  Hate!  Those!  Combos!" He screamed.

"Don't blame the combos.  Maybe you just need practice."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," grumbled Chase.

"Well, do you have any other ideas?  Besides ranting to me?" MH challenged.

"I...well..." Chase stammered.

 _I do.  How about saying those things to my face?_ Luigi thought as he leaned against the door.  He couldn't listen to this anymore.  He got up and left.

"Hey, Luigi?"

He paused.  Chad stood there, his face a little pale, looking determined.

"There's no other way I can say it, so I'm just gonna say it."  Chad took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry, L.  I'm sorry about the things I said after you beat me, and I'm sorry about the way I acted during and after our Team Battle.  It was wrong for me to just stand there and let you do all of the work, and I should have acknowledged you after I won.  I was mean, stupid and wrong, and I hope you can forgive me.

"I saw the look on your face after I left with Steve and Stevie.  I've seen how these haters have broken you down.  And I tell you that I didn't intend to go down that path.  I guess I'm used to having everything come to me so easily in my life.  But I guess Smash isn't for spoiled rich kids.  It's time for me to grow up.  It's time for me to act like a Smasher and be more of a team player.  I..." He sighed.  "I fell in with some bad people once, and it was a mistake I almost made when I threw a hissy fit over you beating me.  The first time I fell, I worked so hard to get clean and had to re-earn the trust of close friends and relatives.  I promised them that I wouldn't foul myself up again, and I intend to keep that promise.  Holding a grudge against you—will certainly lead me to that old life.  I don't want to go back.  I want to start fresh with you, Luigi.  I want us to be friends and to trust each other."

"Did you follow me here?" Asked Luigi.

"Yes.  And I saw you listening in on Chase.  You looked so broken, and..." His voice cracked.  "I'm really sorry, Luigi.  I'm not a bad person—I just made bad decisions."

"I know."  Luigi moved toward Chad and put his arm around him.  "And I forgive you."

"You—you do?"

"I saw you in the stands, cheering for me, and I knew you wanted to change your ways.  So, it's easy for me to get over what you did.  Unlike _some_ people, who woo their way back into my good graces and continue to grumble about me behind my back."

"I think that maybe Falco's confused about what he feels," said Chad.

"He doesn't look confused to me," mumbled Luigi.

"Just give him more time.  I'm sure he'll come around.  And maybe—just maybe—your friendship will be restored to what it once was."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then—accept that it's over, and move on.  Bridges burn, and new ones are built.  That certainly happened in my case."

"This isn't about you, Chad.  It's about me.  It's about what Falco said and how it affects the way I see him."

"I—that's what I'm saying.  I'm trying to give you advice based on my own experiences of hanging with the wrong crowd.  I mean, if something can't be fixed, why waste your time fixing it?"

"If you really want to make things up to me, then don't get philosophical—try to understand how I feel."

"I do.  I do understand.  That's why I'm..."

Luigi stopped him with a look.  "I've told myself that I'm over it," he said, "but I keep hearing his words.  It's like—Chase or Steve or Stevie or Koopa said them.  Just when I think I can talk to him again, boom.  He smiles in my face and he gets all sugary and it makes me feel nauseous.  Four days or so ago in the Training Room, I thought we made progress, and I thought I was ready to put what he said behind me.  But I guess I was wrong."

"How come?  Was it something he did or said or...?"

"He—stopped rooting for me during my matches.  He broods in the stands lately, nursing a drink.  He shrinks from Mario.  He doesn't congratulate me when I win and comfort me when I lose.  I—I don't feel as close to him as I used to.  Instead of reconciling, we're drifting apart."

"In that case—I don't think Falco was really your friend at all.  Because true friends don't yell at you after you've beaten them one time too many.  L—this will sound harsh, but soon you'll have to decide whether you need to fight for Falco—or let him go.  And I'm thinking you need to let him go."

Luigi studied Chad for a long moment.  "You're right."

"C'mon," said Chad.  "Let's go for some burgers.  My treat."

**1.1.1**

"I'm sorry—I can't do this anymore."  That was the first thing Chad said to Falco.

"Ex—cuse me?"

"I can't do this anymore.  Tell the Bennigan Brothers that it was fun while it lasted, but I want out.  This hatred and saltiness—it's messing me up, man."

"Wow," was all Falco could say.

"Yeah.  Sorry for the short notice, but I need to rethink my priorities," said Chad.  "This Project Nerf is drawing me back into a self-destructive lifestyle, and I don't want that.  Please understand."

"I—I do," stammered Falco.  "Good luck, I guess."

"Good luck to you, too.  And think about Luigi.  This sneaking around is really hurting your efforts to make up with him."

Falco snorted.

"Do you want to make up with Luigi?  Really?"

"I—I don't know.  I hate that he has those combos, but I don't hate him."

"Hm.  Sounds like you _do_ hate him because of those combos.  But c'mon!  You guys are supposed to be friends.  Do you really want to make things up to him?  Then make some sacrifices, for God's sake."

"Well—sorry you won't be continuing with us," said Falco.

"Don't be.  I want you to be happy that I'm jumping off this boat, because I'm trying to better myself."  Chad ruffled the feathers on Falco's head.  "Maybe you should do the same."

Falco watched as Chad walked away.  As soon as he was out of earshot, the avian pulled out his phone and called Vincent. 

"We have a problem," he said.

**1.1.1**

Vince, Manny and Shane wore matching grim looks as they convened tonight's meeting.

"What's wrong?" Asked Marth.

"Yeah, is everything okay?" Added Rolf.

"I'm afraid I must open the meeting with some grave news," said Vince.  "Chad—has bailed."

Gasps.

"Well, we gotta do something!" Yelped Koopa.  "What if...?"

"He promised me that he wouldn't," Falco reassured the party.

"How come he promised you and not the rest of us?" Roy wanted to know.

"Because he told me," said Falco.  "Then, I passed the news on to Vince."

"Well, with one less conspirator, what are we gonna do?" Kuro demanded.

"Best not wallow in our grief," advised Vince.  "We have many things to do, and little time to do them."

Murmurs of agreement.

"It seems—we haven't heeded Falco's advice," said Shane, giving Chase a meaningful look.

"I apologize.  I—I was just so angry," sighed Chase.

"We all are angry, but Falco's right.  MH won't listen to us if we scream at him."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow, apologize for losing my temper."

"Maybe he'll understand if you word it properly," said Falco.  "If enough people speak up—calmly—then MH will consider patching it out.  That's the goal of Project Nerf, isn't it?  To get MH to patch out Luigi's combos?"

"First, we need to get MH curious enough to contact the higher-ups," said Manny.  " _Then_ they'll work together to patch out those combos."

"We've still made no progress in that department," Shane said pointedly.

"We're doing our best," Kyle told him.

"And how are you doing that?  Having conniptions at Master Hand?  We need phone calls to the higher-ups!  Arguments that Luigi is disrupting the 'fair-and-balanced' creed of the tournament with his combos!  We need tongues wagging, we need allies, and we need results!"

"There's only so much we can do during the day," said Steve.  "Sometimes, I can feel Mario's eyes boring into me."

Hushed whispering.

 _If Mario finds out about this, he'll pull us apart like warm bread_ , warned Mewtwo.

"What about Master Hand?" Asked Manny.

"MH isn't red alert material—not when Crazy Hand is helping us manipulate him," said Marth.

"But Mario—he's the one we must look out for," said Koopa.  "You don't know what he can do when you set him off.  _I_ do."

Falco shivered.  "He's been giving me—looks," he confessed.  "Ever since I blew up at Luigi, I've felt his eyes—everywhere.  In the stands, on the battlefield, in the lounge.  I can lie to myself and to you, I can claim that I have no qualms—but I never can run from nor hide what I've done from those eyes—Mario's eyes—the eyes of an elder brother."

Silence.

"We need to find a way to throw Mario off our trail," Falco went on.

Mutters in agreement.

"That's the truth of it," said Vince, "but I can't help but notice—you haven't officially committed to us.  You've been to our meetings, but you haven't come up to speak.  You've thrown suggestions about, but you've pretty much—stayed in the background.  Does this have to do—with Luigi?"

"I want to be part of this, I really do," said Falco.  "It's just—I'm trying to do right by him.  I hurt him terribly, and I still think our friendship can be saved."

"Falco, time is of the essence.  You need to make your decision," exhorted Vince.

"Decision?  What do you mean?"

"You can choose to side with us or with Luigi.  Not both."

Falco dropped his head.  "It's not that simple.  I miss him."

"I thought you hated those combos," Manny chimed in.

"I do!"

"Well, then, the decision isn't that complicated, is it?"

"Not really."

"Look, Falco, every second you sit there being indecisive is a second lost," said Manny.  "The time has come for you to choose a side.  Work things out with Luigi, or join with us.  We'll give you until tomorrow night to think it over."

Falco nodded.

"I made some phone calls," Rolf piped up.  "Some of my friends work for the higher ups.  Once they spread word that a few Smashers are concerned about Luigi's playstyle, they can reach out to Master Hand, rather than vice versa."

"I want MH to initiate contact," said Vince.  "I don't want him pushed into something he doesn't like.  If we heed Falco's advice and approach the situation calmly, then we can make him believe that Luigi needs to be nerfed."

"Hear, hear!" Chimed the crowd.

"I think I know a way," said Stevie.

"Speak," said Shane.

"Something—big—is going to happen tomorrow afternoon.  Think of it as a—civil war.  Brother against brother.  And both sides have some pretty—zealous—fans."

Vince's eyes lit up.  "Ah—Mario's gonna fight Luigi."

"I sneaked a peak at tomorrow schedule," Stevie said proudly.  "It's so big that it's the last match of the day.  It begins at 5p.m. sharp.  And Mario's fans can be a bit—extreme."

"I see.  You think that we can convince the Mario fans—those who think that his brother deserves to remain in the Player Two slot—to join with us."

"Think?  I know we can.  But we have to be subtle.  However intense their match-ups are, Mario still cares deeply for Luigi."

"But those are the moments where the _other side_ of their relationship emerges," said Falco.  "It gets to the point where they have to hug it out afterwards."

"Are you suggesting that we...?" Shane started.

"NO!" Barked Falco.  "Absolutely not!  Turning Mario against Luigi is impossible!  And furthermore, that'll make him suspicious of us.  He'll smell foul play in a heartbeat!  I say we go with Stevie's idea and hang out with Mario's extreme fans.  I'm sure they'll be easy to convince."

"Very well," said Vince.  "All in favor of Stevie's idea, say 'aye'."

"Aye!" Roared the crowd.

Stevie blushed.  "Thanks, guys," he said.

"We'll meet near the stage of choice at 4:15," said Vince.  "Try to blend in.  And for Heaven's sake, hide your cards!"

On those words, the conspirators celebrated Stevie's plan with a few drinks.

 

 


	14. T Minus 18 Days

" _Today, I'm going to show you how to make the perfect gnocchi..."_

Click.

_"Previously, on 'A Stranger Among Us'…"_

Click.

_"Darren, you ARE the father!"_

Click.

_"Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?  Bad boys, bad boys..."_

Click.

_"I gave you my heart, and you ripped it into a million pieces!  I thought you cared about me!"_

Click.

_"This is despicable!  We welcomed you into our family, and now you've deceived us!"_

Click.

_"Coming up, on Judge Judy..."_

Click.

Mario turned off his TV and headed over to his balcony.  There was nothing on TV which interested him right now.  Only one thing held his thoughts—his bout with Luigi.

He knew that Luigi was gonna give it his all this afternoon.  He knew that things were going to get intense between them.  He knew that their playstyles would clash.  He knew he would have to face those down throw combos.  And he knew that tensions and emotions would run high, along with that _other side_ of their relationship.

Mario was really looking forward to it.

He also kinda hoped he won.  His win-loss record wasn't looking too great.  Somewhere, he'd slacked off.  That was why he spent more time in the Training Area.  Losing to Luigi would _not_ do him any favors.  But if he did—if he lost—oh, well.  That was how life worked sometimes.

When he wasn't watching Luigi triumph or try to triumph over opponents with his combos and strategy, Mario was practicing.  First, with the Sandbags, which stood surprisingly well against his iconic strength and power.  Then, with some Miis, including Chad.  The man in red could tell that Chad had softened his attitude toward Luigi, but that didn't mean he went easy on him.  Chad, for his part, knew he deserved it and didn't complain.  After Mario finally allowed him to limp out of the Training Room, he rested for a while and sparred with DK, Link, Samus and Kirby before retiring to his room and trying unsuccessfully to find something interesting on TV.

This bout would take up most, if not all, of his energy.  He knew that he should spend some time resting up or filling up on some carbs.  He also knew that he should psych himself up and not think about Falco.  It would be distracting.

He couldn't help it.  What would Falco be doing during that fight?  Whose side would he be on?  Would he be watching, period?

Would be use this opportunity to try and butter him up by rooting for him?

Mario gripped the balcony with both hands, breathing heavily.  He was sweating!  When was the last time he felt such anger?  Was it when Koopa ruined everyone's day by grabbing his Princess?  Was it when the higher-ups ended Luigi's special year?  Was it...?

He wiped his brow with his sleeve and took a few more breaths, calming down.  Maybe Luigi was still thinking about this, too.  He'd told him he'd decided to give his friendship with Falco another shot.  But now, Mario didn't think it was a good idea, because Falco didn't seem to appreciate it.  Luigi needed to bail before that bird hurt him again.

His phone buzzed.

Mario pulled it out and smiled.  It was a text from Luigi: _U ready for this Bro?_

He texted back: _Sure am.  I hope I don't make u cry when I win._

 _LOL_ , Luigi replied.

_What's so funny?_

_Idk Bro.  U hungry?_

_Not really.  Why?_

_Bcuz ur about to eat my fireballs._

_U wish Lil' Bro._

_I hope you practiced a lot._

_It's your practicing u should worry about._

_Hahaha.  May the best bro win._

In bocca al lupo _, Luigi._

Crepi _!_

Mario chuckled and put his phone away.  The fires were stoked and the energy and tension were building.  He turned on his music and began bobbing and weaving about his room, shadowboxing, pretending to dunk, up-tilt combo and Cape his younger brother.

Five o' clock couldn't come soon enough.

**1.1.1**

It was now 4:15. Vince, Manny and Shane stood at the appointed spot, flanked by the two Steves, Chase, Falco and the other conspirators.  Like a gathering of hawks, they watched the spectators filing in and milling about at the concessions stand, searching for potential recruits.

"Too bland," Falco was saying.  "I'm not _seeing_ it yet."

"Patience, little bird," cooed Vince.

Two superstars, two heroes in their own right, taking each other on.  The hype was real, and it was everywhere.  There were fans, dressed in Mario's iconic getup, wearing shirts with the iconic Mushroom symbol on them, wearing shirts with Mario's face on them, lugging accessories and merchandise with Mario or his insignia on them and carrying over-the-top signs cheering on Nintendo's mascot.  And there were Luigi's fans, wearing t-shirts or tanks with Luigi's face on them or clad in his green-and-blue ensemble, wearing green tiaras or headdresses or baseball caps, toting Luigi-themed merchandise, some with replicas of a certain ghost vacuum on their backs and hefting hand-painted signs encouraging the man in green.  They shouted good-naturedly to the Mario fans, who responded in kind.  They bought their food and their souvenirs, and then they filled the seats in the spectator area.  Master Hand knew this was a huge affair, and thus put in some additional seats, and oh, boy, they were filled!  Mario fans over here, Luigi fans over there.  Men and women removed their shirts and applied their body paint.  Red and blue on this side, green and blue on that side.  Peach and Rosalina pulled face-painting duty for both camps, adorning cheeks with shells, Stars, Mushrooms and the like.

"We'd do better mingling with the crowd," whispered Chase.

"You and the others go on ahead," said Vince.  "My brothers and I will set up a command center outside."

"And if you're spotted?" Falco wanted to know.

"Fear not; we'll be so overt, it'll be covert," winked Manny.

"I need to find a seat, anyway," mused Falco as he allowed himself to blend into the crowd at a concession stand.  He was hungry for some cheese fries and an extra-large drink.

After he ordered his food, he saw a youth in Mario's shirt and overalls, holding hands with a small girl wearing a red blouse and blue jumper.

"Hey," he called to the youth.  "I like the way those coveralls fit!  What's your secret?"

"Sorry, birdie, not interested," said the youth.

"Where are you from?" Falco asked.

"Oakland."

"Could you—come here for a second?"

Slinging the small girl onto his hip, the youth walked over to join Falco.

"My name's Falco.  What's yours?"

"Ethan.  And this is my sister, Anna."

"Hi," said Anna.

"Where's your mom and dad?" Falco wanted to know.

"They're waiting for us in the stands.  They told me they could take little Anna here to get whatever treat her tiny heart desires."

"Interesting," said Falco.  "So, are you rooting for our good mascot, Super Mario?"

"I guess so," said Ethan.  "I mean, I like them both."

"Me, too!" Anna piped up.

"Ah, but both of them can't win this match.  You have to root for one or the other," said Falco.

"Mom and Dad say that Mario should win, because he's the better brother," offered Ethan.

"They're absolutely right.  Mario _is_ the better brother.  He's Mr. Nintendo.  He's Mr. Video Game Himself.  He's Player One.  He's our unofficial spokesperson.  I'm counting on him to win."

"But my friends at school say that Luigi jumps higher," said Anna.

"Yeah, but, he's very slippery," Ethan said gently.

"Mom and Dad don't like him very much," pouted Anna.

"Who?  Luigi?" Falco asked innocently.

"You must forgive my little sis.  She tends to overexaggerate things."  Ethan ruffled Anna's hair.  "It's not that they don't like Luigi.  They just—like Mario better.  With Luigi being Player Two and a softie and all."

"What do you think?" Falco asked.

"Mario has a whole bunch of games, so I guess that speaks for itself," shrugged Ethan.

"Let me ask you one more thing before you go get your food.  What do you think about Luigi's year?  Do you think he deserved it?"

"It's like—Nintendo thought they owed him because it was his birthday.  Why?  What's this about?"

"It's about Luigi's down throw combos," explained Falco.

Ethan cringed.  "My friends squash me in Smash because of them.  I _hate_ them, and so do Mom and Dad."

"You're just upset because Mario doesn't have them," Anna pointed out.

"Anna..."

"No, she's right.  Mario doesn't have them, but Luigi does.  But Luigi's the younger brother, the sidekick.  He didn't _earn_ those combos.  Mario does most of the grunt work."

"Luigi's not a bad person!" Anna cried out.

"We're not saying that Luigi's a bad person," said Falco.  "I think Luigi's a good person.  He's just better off as the second player."

"Is he?" Anna sassed.  "Why are you so mean to him?"

"We're not being mean to him," Ethan assured his sis.

"No, we're not," added Falco.  "We just want his combos toned down.  Do you think it would be fair and balanced if he had such a big advantage?"

"I guess not," mumbled Anna.

"If Master Hand gets enough feedback on the situation, then he'll talk to the higher-ups to have things changed," said Falco.  "That's what some friends of mine and I are trying to do."

"Well, ah, good luck with that," said Ethan.  "We'd better get going before our parents start to worry."

"You know what I think?"

"That you're gonna get somewhere if you keep talking?" Ethan deadpanned.

"I think you should do what you're doing now.  Root for Mario.  But join with us and root for Mario.  Keep the status quo in place.  Maybe you can start winning over your friends."

"We'll think about it, Falco," said Ethan.  "Okay?  It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise."

Falco watched the two melt back into the crowd, feeling confident that he didn't have just Ethan, but also Anna.

**1.1.1**

4:45. The spectator area was now standing room only, as was the overflow room.  Everyone was painted, costumed and ready to go.  Peach sat in Mario's seat, with Rosalina beside her.  Both ladies were clad in green dresses and had their hair in a fancy up-do, makeup neatly applied.  Their section was crammed with Toads and reformed Koopa Troopas and Shy Guys who'd made the trip to see their favorite Bros in action.

Peach was the first to see the Warp Pipe.  There was a lull in the crowd as Mario enthusiastically hopped out and struck a pose.  "Here we go!" He sang out as everyone in the stands cheered.

Peach blew him a kiss.  "I love you, Mario!"

"You, too, Peachy!"  The little man felt his blood coursing through his veins.  After sparring with an imaginary foe, he'd showered, changed into his iconic red-and-blue getup and hurried over to the stage.  On his way, he'd spotted Luigi, relaxing with his eyes closed, earbuds in.  He'd paused and watched him, studying the rise and fall of his chest and the smile on his lips before continuing along.  It was good that Luigi was resting, because Mario was going to push him and push him like never before!

The stage picked for them was Mario Galaxy, mystical and familiar.  It was only fair that both Bros had home field advantage.  Bright stars twinkled all around, occasional Star Bits gently drifting downward.  Mario drank in the serenity, finding that it helped him focus.

His eye fell on a family of four, all decked out in Mario apparel.  The father wore the shirt, overalls, cap, gloves and a fake moustache.  The mother wore a more feminine-looking Mario costume, which resembled a dress, and her face was dolled up.  The son was also clad in a Mario costume, sans the fake moustache.  Sitting on his lap was the daughter, wearing a blouse and a jumper along with a Mario cap, face smeared with ice-cream.  All four broke into matching smiles and waved down to the plumber.  He waved back, relishing in the attention.  He'd lost track on how many families were playing his games, how many families looked up to him.  He remembered how, back in the 90s, he'd put his face on countless products and toys, and everyone mobbed the stores to get their little slice of Super Mario.  Everyone loved him, and standing here, he was reminded of that love.  Heck, Nintendo was the first princess he rescued.  No wonder he was so beloved.

Mario beamed at the masses of spectators cheering and shouting to him.  "It's-a me, Mario!"  Everyone loved it when he said that; it was one of his catch-phrases.  He was as iconic as iconic could get, down to his red ball-cap and bushy moustache.  Waving to the crowd, he called to them, "Thank you so much!  Wah-hoo!"

"Mario's number one!" The crowd chanted.  Mario blushed.  They were right.  He _was_ number one.  He'd always _be_ number one.  He...

His thoughts screeched to a halt when he saw Falco, seated next to the family of four.  The avian grinned an easy grin and waved at Mario as if they were good friends and everything was fine between them.  Mario knew that Falco would do this, and it only served to stoke his anger.  But not a hint of it showed on his face.  He returned Falco's easy grin with a courteous smile, a smile which caused unease to well up in Falco's stomach.  Quickly, he shoved it aside.  He wanted to enjoy this afternoon.

There was another hush, and Mario turned to see a second Warp Pipe across from him.  He grinned broadly as Luigi leaped out to cheers from his fans.  The Bros' eyes met; Luigi's eyes flashed at his big bro.  Despite everything, the majority of the spectators assembled were still on Mario's side.  The difference wasn't as big as it used to be, but it was still there.  Mario still held the bigger slice of the pie.

His previous bouts had been relatively easy and spaced out.  MH had given him a hefty break between his last fight and this one.  Luigi had used the break wisely, engaging in a vigorous workout.  He'd spent 90 minutes pounding at a Sandbag before switching to an arguably better release—dancing.  Dancing had helped him deal with his aggression long before these tournaments.  He'd locked himself in his room, stripped off his shirt, cranked up some upbeat tunes and just—danced.  He danced to 80s hits, 90s hits, salsa, oldies, hip-hop, Y2K hits, danced till the sweat flew off his body and spattered the walls, at which point he danced some more.  He danced away the nervous energy and the trepidation and the memory of Falco and what he said to him and even of Chad's actions.  He rolled his shoulders and wound his hips and rocked and swayed his body, and it felt great.  It got his blood circulating and his muscles prepped for the throw-down to come.  In between dancing, he did some stretches and aerobics, but most of the time, he danced and sweated, eyes closed, enjoying the release.  About 2 hours before the bout, he'd turned off his music, went outside and parked himself on a bench.  He'd warmed up his body, and now he had to warm up his mind.  He'd put on some relaxing music, closed his eyes and begun to psych himself up.

At around 4:35, he'd sensed his big bro's presence.  Sensed him pausing and looking him over.  He was such a good brother, but he needed to remember that Luigi was more than just a sidekick.  He could fight as well as any Player One.  Luigi knew all of Mario's tricks and tickets to victory, knew that he'd have the audience wrapped around his finger.  He knew that they all expected him to be back in the shadows now that his year was over.  But they were all wrong.

Clenching his fists, he'd cleared his mind of that clutter.  Fighting Mario meant keeping a level head, especially if you were his younger sibling—and his semi-clone, no less.  He knew all of Luigi's moves and exactly how to counter them.  He knew his weaknesses and would exploit them to the point of hair-snatching frustration.  He knew...

He knew of his combos.

Luigi slowly blew out a breath and opened his eyes, feeling the bench under him and his feet on the floor.  He felt refreshed, focused, ready.  After a quick glance at his watch, the man in green jumped into an invigorating shower and dressed in his green and blue ensemble before heading off to the designated stage.

Now, the two men stood on opposite sides of Mario Galaxy, exchanging an intense, charged gaze.  They were brothers, part of each other, but they'd still give it their all this afternoon.  Mario was so anticipated that he bit his lip, drawing a little blood.  Sure, his lil' bro had his year, but it was over now, and he was still Super Mario.  He forced the thought aside as quickly as it popped in, but Luigi saw it nonetheless.  Saw the challenge in Mario's eyes and saw the slight smear of blood where he'd bitten his lip too hard.  He remembered the heart-to-heart outside of MH's office and Mario's reassurances, but he also knew that the elder brother had racked up some heavy losses lately.  If he lost, how would he react?  If he won, how would he react?  He looked really determined to win.

 _Then he has a long fight_ , he thought as he slowed his breathing and fixed Mario with a singular, steely, set gaze.  He knew what he'd try to do with his cape, F.L.U.D.D and especially his f-air and up-tilt.  Handy moves sure to drive him up the wall, but he couldn't think about that now.  Only about what he needed to do and how he could counter.  Sure, Mario was number one and the Year of Luigi had been over for two years, but Luigi could still be super.

Mario saw Luigi's eyes flash a second time.  Oh, it was on.  It was _on_.  Those combos of his—they were nothing that a well-timed "dunk" couldn't solve.  He knew his way around Luigi's combos; he'd stop them cold!  Then he remembered that this was the exact attitude Luigi was worried about.  Combos or no combos, Luigi was his brother, and he loved him.  But both couldn't win this fight, and the elder was in desperate need of a victory.

The bros approached center stage, shook hands, and then pulled each other in for a tender brotherly hug.  The contact elicited a deep, shuddering sigh from them both, putting hidden fears, worries and doubts to rest, at least for a while.  Audience members murmured among themselves as they saw Mario whisper something into Luigi's ear, making him relax and sink deeper into the embrace.

"Awww...that is so sweet!" Anna exclaimed.

"Yeah," added Ethan.  "They really _do_ love each other."

"We'll see how long that lasts once those combos start," grumbled Falco.

Murmurs of agreement.

"Come, now.  Luigi's a really great guy," said the father, Theo.  "But his combos are a bit much, don't you think?"

"Totally!" Ethan piped up.  "I can never win against a Luigi player!"

"Practice makes perfect, Ethan," sighed the mother, Vanessa.  Falco knew they'd had this conversation many times before.

"Maybe you should try playing as Luigi," said Anna.  "I'm sure you'll start beating your friends then!"

Ethan grumbled.

"Why would I want to play as him?  He makes me sick!"

"Ethan Richard!  That's not a nice thing to say!" Vanessa admonished.

"Yeah, sport," Theo chimed in.  "When I was your age, a friend of mine used to beat me at dodgeball, but I never gave up."

When Theo and Vanessa's backs were turned, Falco leaned in toward Ethan.  This was his chance to pounce.  "You hate that green plumber?" He asked quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Luigi.  You hate his guts, don't you?"

"I dunno.  I don't like him.  His combos are getting on my nerves."

"C'mon, Ethan, I see it in you."  The avian went in for the kill.

"Yeah, I hate him!  I hate his guts!" Ethan hissed through clenched jaws.

 _Score_!  Thought Falco.  "But what about those combos?  Is there anything you hate more than those combos?"

Ethan shook his head.  "No way!"

"Mr. Lombardi, we are _not_ encouraging this!" Vanessa said sternly, having caught the tail-end of the conversation.

"I'm not encouraging!  I'm just asking how much..."

He nearly jumped at the sound of cheers and whirled back toward the stage.  The bros had separated and were once again standing face-to-face at opposite ends, shoulders back, fists up.  Trying to anticipate what the other would do when the match began.

"Go get him, M!" Cheered Ethan.

"Yeah!  Go, Mario!" Falco hollered.

The countdown started.

"3...2...1...GO!"

**1.1.1**

Mario knew that the first thing Luigi would try to do was to set up for a grab.  But he also knew of his bad approach.  So, instead of beginning aggressively like with other opponents, he started off this match by throwing fireballs, camping his bro out and keeping him spaced.  If Luigi closed in, then Mario was pretty much toast, and he didn't want that.  The man in red proceeded to launch fireball after fireball, studying Luigi for a reaction.

Calmly, Luigi launched his own fireballs, the globules of red and green bouncing and trailing back and forth like a Christmas show.  They exchanged fireballs from both ground and air, the balls sometimes hitting each other and cancelling each other out and other times hitting their target.  Luigi was able to dodge most of them, but Mario had his Cape to deflect the green ones back to their sender.

"C'mon, Mario," exhorted Ethan.  "Let's go!"

However difficult it was, Luigi wouldn't stop figuring out ways to approach.  If he could somehow trick his big bro into dropping his guard—if he could somehow stop the barrage of fireballs—then he was in.  He danced left, then right, then back again, making him a difficult projectile target.  Mario advanced slightly to get a better aim.  But suddenly, Luigi aggressively dashed forward.  Caught off guard, Mario panicked and shielded.

Big mistake.

His fans also knew, for when they saw him put up his shield, they all shouted, "No, no, no!"  Seconds later, the man in red was in his baby bro's strong grip.

Dio!  _I played right into his hands_ , Mario thought.

Luigi butt-slammed him and fired off a string of f-airs, but the combo was short, as Mario knew those combos to a T, and by extension, how to escape them.  He evaded a f-air strike and then swung his Cape into Luigi, briefly disorienting him.  He then followed up with his own f-air, smashing the younger bro back to the ground.

Ethan and Falco cheered.  Anna looked worried.  Theo and Vanessa exchanged glances.

"Works every time," Peach mused to Rosalina, who nodded.

Slightly dazed, Luigi stood and raised his fists.  Fighting Mario had always been tough.  A spray of frigid water suddenly hit him in the face, pushing him toward the edge of the stage.  He lost his balance and found himself clinging to the ledge.  Mario smiled in satisfaction as he holstered F.L.U.D.D. and ran forward.

Luigi flipped himself off the ledge, delivering a double-footed kick to Mario's face.  The elder brother kicked hard from the ground as he got up, grabbing Luigi as he tried to reorient himself.  His diehard fans knew what was about to happen, and so did Luigi.

Mario counted the up-tilts silently after slamming Luigi down, but his fans counted them out loud.  They loved it when he did his chaining up-tilts; it was one of his favorite combos.  If he was lucky, he'd next u-air his opponents into the sky—but Luigi knew Mario as well as Mario knew Luigi.  His golden n-air stopped the barrage of u-tilts cold before he swept Mario into a Cyclone.  The man in red was flung into the air, the man in green giving pursuit with a few b-airs and then spiking him with a d-air.  Mario crashed onto the stage, but then hopped back up and threw some more fireballs.  Luigi ducked or dodged them all.  He was going to get back in, whether his bro liked it or not.  But Mario also knew that he could punish Luigi better and harder if he got him offstage.  A back throw, perhaps...

He didn't notice the Missile headed toward him till it was too late.  It plowed hard into his body, sending him soaring.  As he tried to recover with his Cape, Luigi kept him busy with his fireballs.  But the man in red hopped back onto the stage and sent a powerful blast of fire square into the younger bro's chest.  Luigi recovered quickly, executed a quick, short-hop f-air and then delivered a powerful body shot which doubled Mario over.

And then he grabbed.

 _One of his grab set-ups,_ thought Mario.  _I should've known._

Both sides watched in fascinated semi-silence as Luigi slammed Mario down once again for another try at a combo.  And he'd learned the first time, throwing out that Golden Leg whenever Mario tried to escape or counterattack.  Many Mario fans, Ethan included, were practically screaming at the red-capped hero, screaming for him to DO SOMETHING!

But what could he do when Luigi could read him from a mile away?

"Aw, J—s," Peach heard someone grumble next to her.

"Give me a f—ing break," chimed in another.

Peach and Rosa both glared at the two but said nothing.  They turned back to face the action as they heard the familiar sound of brisk breathing.  Luigi's face was beginning to flush, his mouth rounded, as he continued to style this combo on his big bro.  A slight feeling of catharsis washed over him.  People said that Mario held the advantage but let them see this!

After a Cyclone, Mario finally got his wits about him and managed to get a b-air in.  He fast-fell and began charging up F.L.U.D.D.  By the looks of things, his baby bro needed a little cooling off.  But before he could finish charging, he was surprised by Luigi's "sissy-fists".  He then tried to get in another grab, but Jumpman would have none of it.  He threw out a spinning kick and then knocked a handful of coins from him with his own jumping uppercut.  But then Luigi took advantage of Mario's freefalling state to spike him with another d-air, followed by a n-air and a f-air string and another n-air and then an up-B.  But he missed the sweet-spot, d—mit!

Ethan and Falco chuckled.

"What are you waiting for?" Theo shouted down to Mario.  "Punish him!"

Mario flicked his Cape at Luigi a few times as he tried to run in, and then grabbed him and slammed him down for another u-tilt combo.  Luigi hit him with a n-air, but Mario grabbed him and started again.  He read the next n-air, dodged and then bicycle-kicked him three times before finishing with another up-B, taking his stock.

Everyone gasped.  Usually, Luigi was the first to take someone's stock!  Then, Mario's fans were on their feet, going crazy, while Luigi's fans politely applauded.  The red-clad plumber took off his cap with a flourish and spun around, one hand on his hip.  Yup, he was still number one.

He smiled at Luigi as he respawned, studying his face.  The man in green took several deep breaths, willing the frustration away.  This match was starting off badly for him.

The bros circled each other for a few moments.  Then, before Mario could launch a single fireball, Luigi acted aggressively, quickly lunging forward and grabbing him!  Mario found himself the recipient of a fierce combo.  He saw everything in Luigi's eyes and knew that the stock loss had thrown him for a loop.  But he was handling it quite well in comparison to—others.

Mamma mia!  Why was he thinking about that bird?!  Stay focused.  Stay focused!

Concentrating the sudden burst of anger on the task at hand, Mario broke free of his brother's combo and executed an aerial spin attack.  It used to be his down special before F.L.U.D.D. came into the picture, but that's off-topic.  The attack left Luigi slightly dazed, so Mario grabbed him, threw him up, flip-kicked him repeatedly and then knocked some more coins from him.  Luigi got up and endeavored to put some distance between him and Mario, but the little man came after him with b-airs and n-airs.  He grabbed him and hurled him skyward again, mashed him with another tornado and threw his trademark Plunger move, but the hit was late, so he didn't get the sweet-spot!  Now, he was wide open, and...

...Luigi came back with a vengeance, sailing into Mario with a misfired Missile, grasping him and flinging him forward, pursuing him with short-hop f-airs and u-airs until he felt confident enough to go for another combo!  Luigi's fans were fired up by now, waving their signs, jumping up high and shouting at the tops of their voices.  Rosa and Peach just sat there in the front row, watching the Bros square off and smiling.  How could they take sides when they loved them both the same?

Mario's fans, by contrast, were shouting desperately, Ethan on the verge of a total breakdown!  Theo and Vanessa tried to console him, telling him that Mario losing wouldn't be the end of the world, but Luigi couldn't beat him!  He couldn't!  How could Player Two beat Player One?  That was unthinkable!  Anna really didn't care.  She just wanted to see both Mario Bros on the battlefield together!  She loved how their fighting styles were similar yet different.  She loved seeing Mario escaping from Luigi's combos and vice versa!  Whoever won this bout didn't matter to her.

Falco didn't need further convincing about what needed to be done about those combos.  If Mario, the perfect all-around fighter, could fall victim to them, then Smash was essentially cooked unless someone took action!  He slumped and face-winged as Luigi anticipated Mario's efforts to lash back and threw out flying kicks to extend his combos.  This was absolutely outrageous.  The younger bro was laying the elder out to dry!  Shouldn't it be the other way around?  But then again, Mario worn out after a brotherly battle would mean that Falco would be safe from his withering glares—for a while, at least.

Applause sounded as Luigi finished a combo with a Cyclone, Mario shooting off fireballs from the air to prevent him from following up further.  He tried to recover to an upper platform, but Luigi was ready for him with a flip-kick.  Mario tried again and again, only to be met with up tilts and up smashes.  Eventually, he solved that problem with a fast-falling d-air.  It pushed Luigi back, but not far enough.  He could easily dash back in and go for a grab, but Mario deflected the attempt with the Cape.  Instantly after, he darted in with some hard-hitting shots to his baby bro's midsection.  Luigi's eyes glazed over for a few seconds, but then he dropped down for a breakdance sweep, kicking Mario off his feet.  He rolled back to a standing position—and right into Luigi's grab.

 _Oh, come on!_ Mario thought to himself.

Luigi took a big, deep breath and chained off a fresh combo, his heart going off like a telegraph.  Sweat flew off him in sprinkles which stood out against the starry background of Mario Galaxy.  His breathing was brisk and hard, but steady.  He knew that Mario would give him a challenge; he was someone he couldn't keep in a combo for long.  During the bout, he studied his elder brother, watching for a reaction, a flicker of frustration, a pinch of saltiness, a glimmer of gloating over having a one-stock lead.  So far, nothing significant.  But maybe he was a good pretender.  Maybe on the inside, he was chuckling over that stock or boiling over the possibility of losing that advantage...

Swiftly, he came back to the present, catching Mario with a down-air and then a n-air and u-air and stringing some more f-airs together like a beaded necklace, feeling a sharp emotion bubbling beneath his sweaty skin.  There were so many things about Mario which irked Luigi, so many things which annoyed him and so many things which outright angered him, things he could easily calm, command and control, things easily overwhelmed by his deep, superhuman love.  So many things—but then Mario would smile at him and wrap him up in a hug, and it wouldn't matter anymore.  He both loved Mario and envied him—there was a lot of stuff he had to let out, and in the heat of battle, he did just that.  They'd talked about it that day in front of MH's office, but Luigi couldn't help but think about that Power Tennis tournament again.  The feel of Mario's shoe atop his foot, the expression on his face—and now flash-forward over a decade and the secret worries of how his combo game was affecting their relationship and Mario's views of him, since Falco nastily pointed out that "a lot of Smashers" were tiring of enduring them.  He could feel and hear his breaths turn angry as the memory of that blow-up came into focus, mixed with the memory of Mario claiming that he was proud of him and grinning in his face before stepping on his foot, mixed with the fact that more people were currently cheering for Mario than for him...

He licked his lips before winding up and sending a forward smash into Mario, knocking him offstage.  Then, he balanced himself on the ledge, watching him trying to recover, waited for Mario to reach the right altitude, and...

A simple, shy dirt kick sent the man in red plummeting straight down, bringing the bros to a tie.  Luigi felt considerably better after that.

He flashed a peace sign at the audience, and then Mario respawned looking—shaken.  That down taunt was one of Luigi's favorites, and it had humiliated many Smashers.  The little man breathed deeply and charged up F.L.U.D.D. before striding toward Luigi.

There was something else about his baby bro that he could exploit.  His traction.  His horrible traction.  This flaw had existed since the good old days in 1999, and it always made Luigi want to tear his hair out.  People used to laugh at him over how he tended to slip and slide, but he ignored them.  Not that it made his traction any better.

But Mario reasoned that maybe he'd have a chance if he could get Luigi to slip and slide.  He didn't want anybody laughing at him for it; he just wanted an advantage.  The red-capped hero proceeded to throw fireballs and feint back-airs, once again trying to camp him out until he could get him offstage.  Maybe he could bait him into executing some laggy, easily punishable move.

"Go, go, Mario!" He heard his fans chant.  A warm, tingling feeling passed over him when he heard those voices.  They made everything all right.  He focused back on Luigi and feinted some more, tricking him into advancing before spraying him with F.L.U.D.D.  The younger bro shook the water out of his eyes and leaped back up, feeling pumped.  Fluidly, he danced about the stage, searching for a way in.

His rhythm was cut off as Mario executed a slide tackle, knocking him diagonally upward.  Mario followed him and tried to spike with his Plunger move, but Luigi air-dodged and fast-fell to safety.  He let fly a handful of fireballs before throwing an awesome cross-punch to the jaw.  Mario answered back with a one-two punch, and then they were at it!  Fans of both fighters leapt to their feet, clapping and chanting, as the duo exchanged heavy blows, seeking an opening.  Repeatedly, Luigi tried to get an aerial attack in, but Mario always knocked him back down.  And Mario kept trying to pull of another u-tilt combo, but Luigi wouldn't let him.  The punches and kicks flew, both staying close and deflecting grab attempts with a simple flick of their wrists.  The entire stage was currently charged with energy and emotions as the fighters shut out the cheers around them and centered their focus on the man in front of them.  There was so much tension that it was practically difficult to breathe.

"Hey, ho!  Let's-a go!"  Mario's fans chanted, calling to mind a familiar song which played during numerous sporting events.  The chant spread from one end of the spectator area to another, getting everyone further pumped with each repetition.  Signs and flags waved wildly.  Pom-poms swished as pep squads arrived on the scene.  Those with body paint tested the limits of their vocal chords.  And numerous ladies began flashing both brothers.  Peach always bit her lip when they did that.

"Look at them go!" Anna trilled, bouncing in her seat.

"This is totally wicked!" Another called out.

"I feel so good!" Laughed yet another.  "I feel _so_ good!"

Amidst the chanting, Rosa and Peach shared an order of Super Nachos, occasionally leaning over to score a better look at the action.  The two women were reminded of how much the Bros were in synch.  They knew the others' little secrets, the moves they relied on the most, and tried to keep the other from using them.  It was hard for one of them to hold the advantage for long.  Spectating the other's matches and sparring together had paid off, indeed.

Like Anna, the two Princesses keenly spotted subtle differences between the two.  Mario, the quick-to-action one, was all about raw power and hitting hard.  His to-the-point fighting style made him perfect for novice Smash players because his mysteries were easy to unravel.  He bobbed and weaved like a professional boxer, expelling his breaths in terse puffs, face reddened and sweaty, his eyes two hardened sapphires.  Then, there was Luigi, the cautious one, the one less likely to charge blindly into a fight.  While his elder bro's focus was primarily on simply pounding away, Luigi's attacks were more controlled.  He was less about getting in people's faces and more about baiting, tricking, reading and precision.  His combos were so good because they were painstakingly woven together like a knitted sweater and easily tailored to his opponents' movements and reactions.  Part of his fighting style involved adapting to the situation at any given moment.  His angular face was intense, focused and fierce, his body rolling with his bro's punches.

"He's amazing," gasped a woman behind Rosalina.

The cosmic goddess glanced curiously at her.  "Which one?" She asked.

"Luigi," said the woman.  "He's really good!"

"You're right," said Rosa, watching Luigi sturdily block oncoming blows before landing some impressive hits of his own.  "He is."

Unfortunately, Mario was wise to many of Luigi's grab set-ups, which rendered them moot.  He blocked jabs, knocked Luigi out of the air and did his best to leap out of the way of his poor grabbing range whenever the man in green reached out.  He sent him slipping and stumbling a few times, but was shocked when Luigi managed to recover his balance relatively quickly.  On the few grabs that were successful, Mario managed to break free before being thrown, and then double him over with a powerful gut punch and kick him away.  And then Luigi would answer back with a get-up attack and a few fireballs to try and space them out, with varying degrees of success.  Then, he'd try new ways to grab, and Mario would find ways to punish them, and around and around they went.  The match had become deadlocked, the bros' knowledge of the others' strengths and weaknesses practically neutralizing the others' strategy.  The elder continuously keeping the younger on the ground, the younger keeping the elder from pulling out F.L.U.D.D., both bros quickly escaping grabs and stopping combos in their tracks.  Their fans wouldn't stop screaming down to them, pushing them on.  Falco and Ethan prayed that Mario would eventually gain the advantage.  However, the bros were still figuring each other out.  It was never too late to learn new things about the other.

Red clashed with green against the ethereal ambiance of Mario Galaxy, and everyone ate it up.  They chanted "Hey, ho, let's-a go!", along with "An-di-a-mo!", to the same cadence.  Anna happily clapped and laughed while Ethan practically shrieked exhortations at Mario, Theo hooted, and Vanessa shouted things like "You got this, Mario!"  People streamed live on their Android phones and gushed to out-of-town friends and loved ones.  And Peach and Rosa just chilled in their seats, wearing matching smiles smeared with nacho cheese, patiently waiting for the stalemate to be broken.

And then it was, in Luigi's favor.  He tripped Mario with his low kick, threw two quick fireballs, and then had him in a down throw combo before he even knew what was happening.  Luigi's fans laughed joyfully while Mario's fans sat there, slack-jawed.  The entire area seemed to let out one big breath as the match got going again.  Even Luigi looked relieved that he regained a foothold in this tiring bout.

He ended his combo with a Fire Jump Punch, and Mario's second stock was toast, with only one left.  Those rooting for him mumbled in discontent.  When he respawned, Mario kept his gaze downward so Luigi wouldn't see the frazzled look on his face.  He waited until he felt a little better before raising his eyes to meet a similar pair.  Casually, Luigi flicked some sweat away from his forehead and breathed, slowly and softly, as he studied his big bro's face.  Mario was trying to fight it, but Luigi knew he was getting frustrated.  He'd always know; he was part of him.  The man in red felt a bolt of guilt as he saw the emotions, thoughts and worries playing about Luigi's face, especially with the sparkling eyes and rounded mouth.  He had to stay in control.  He had nobody to blame for this disadvantage but himself.

"Come on," he whispered to his lil' bro.  "Come on, Luigi."

The lightning came to Luigi's eyes, and his face hardened slightly.  The sounds of their breaths floated across Mario Galaxy and the stands encompassing it.  They sized each other up, waiting.

Mario was the first to react, propelling his fist toward his opponent.  Crisply, Luigi sidestepped and kicked back, sharply, and slammed Mario with an overhead punch.  Mario threw out his own flying kick on the way down, followed by a string of b-airs, trying to force Luigi offstage so he could get at least one dunk in.  But Luigi's Golden Leg put a halt to that plan.

The man in green pushed back with a barrage of f-airs and then an aerial Cyclone.  Mario teched his landing, traced the arc of Luigi's descent and executed a short hop, tricking his baby bro into executing a down air.  Before he knew it, Mario's f-air sizzled into him, the ground once again rushing up to give him a big, sloppy kiss.

"FORWARD AERIAL!" Mario's fans boomed.

Mario followed up with his flare kick as Luigi tried to get up, and then started again with the b-airs.  Luigi tried to air-dodge and fast-fall, but Mario was ready for him with a u-air or a n-air.  This time, he had Luigi toppling through space, and then—dunk!

"FORWARD AERIAL!" His fans shouted again.

Mario again swept off his cap and flourished, satisfied with evening the score.  Then, he charged up F.L.U.D.D., watching as Luigi respawned.

"You just got dunked, bro!" Someone from the audience whooped.

Mario gave Luigi an apologetic look, which was returned with a smile.  Then, both their faces went to ice.  They were down to one stock.

This was now or never.

They stared each other down, each trying to figure out what the other had up his sleeve.  Mario advanced first, but Luigi was ready with a forward smash.  Mario recovered swiftly, snatched Luigi as he leaped toward him and slammed him down for an up-tilt combo, finishing by knocking some more coins from him.  Luigi backflipped away and fought defensively with fireballs, jabs, kicks and quick chops.  Everyone watched him flit about the stage, illuminated by starlight.  The way he dipped, feinted, danced, backflipped and cartwheeled looked so smooth.  Mario met that defensive strategy with an aggressive strategy, and Luigi took a lot of punches from the man in red.  Yet he still got up, reminding himself that timing and patience were key.

"What's your play, L?" Rosa muttered.

"I think he's trying to tire Mario out," offered Peach.

"Mario, tired?  That'll be the day," chuckled Rosa, and the Princesses shared a laugh.

However hard they were, Mario's punches weren't wearing Luigi down, which was bad news for the former.  The last thing he wanted was another loss under his belt!  But Luigi was striking back, harder, faster, trying to get that grab and that combo.  The red-clad one flicked his Cape out, sprayed with F.L.U.D.D., hurled fireballs and tried to stay fast and close.  But Luigi had that calm and methodical air about him, the air of one sighting the finish line in the distance and knowing that he couldn't quit now.  He pulled out all the stops and gave it everything he had left.  Mario's composure had begun to crack, and he started making slight mistakes, mistakes which Luigi wasted no time in punishing.  The battle between bros had begun to reach its boiling point, with Mario's forceful, bruiser style winning one moment, and Luigi's cautious, precise and tactical approach taking over the next.

"C'mon, Luigi!" Chad shouted.  "We believe in you!"

"Yeah!" Ness added.  "You're the best!"

"You're the best!  You're the best!" Everyone else chanted as Luigi pushed past the pain and fatigue, doing everything in his power to get that final combo in.  But the combos he did manage were hopelessly short, and Mario was just as determined to get in one last combo, maybe even another dunk.  Luigi, after all, was someone notoriously hard to dunk.  Imagine dunking his lil' bro twice _and_ restoring his good win-loss record!  That would kill two birds with one stone.  Birds, ha-ha.  Very f—ing funny.

Speaking of birds, Falco had a reassuring wing over Ethan's hand, both hardly daring to breathe.  This was going to be a close one.  The avian repeatedly reassured the kid that Mario would pull through, yet he found himself doubting his own words.  Not that he really wanted Mario to win, either—it was simply the lesser of two evils to him.  Mario would be too distracted by the joy of his victory to silently hate Falco for what he said to Luigi.  He'd enjoy at least one night of sleeping soundly—well, Mario wasn't someone to try and do something to the avian while he slept, but there were the nightmares.  Like he told his fellow conspirators the other night, no matter how far he ran or how cleverly he concealed himself, he couldn't escape from Jumpman's eyes.

Anna simply chortled as the advantage continued to see-saw between the brothers.  Falco sneaked an envious glance at her.  She was so young, so innocent.  Falco missed those days when there were no combos, no falling-outs and no responsibilities to fret over.  But perhaps tonight, he'd help her see...

Vanessa had her head bowed, murmuring a silent prayer, as Theo rubbed her back comfortingly.  This wasn't lost on Falco.  He saw a lot of potential in this family.

As the stakes increased, so did the exchange of blistering combos between the bros.  But the spectators couldn't help but notice the difference between them.  They couldn't really see them when the bros were battling someone else, but pitted against each other, it was clearer than a summer day.  Mario's combos were—limited.  Plain.  Bland-ish.  He kind of lacked the setups needed to extend them.  The up-tilts and the dunk finisher were fun, but they got stale after a while, so stale that many other opponents could quickly weasel their way out of them.  Maybe that was why Mario's win-loss record was suffering.  Even Peach and Rosa couldn't help but see those combos as merely variations of beige.  But Luigi's combos—they were so vibrant, like a rainbow playing out across the stage.  They were so satisfying—they literally caused ASMR in some spectators, that tingling feeling down the back of the neck and along the spine.  Of course, the cadences his respirations took on, his facial expressions, the sight of sweat trickling down and flying off of him and his overall athleticism were contributing factors.  Luigi's combos set off many racing and fluttering hearts.  There was a smorgasbord of setups and options to pick and choose from, and best of all, they weren't randomized.  If Mario pulled his combos out of some grab bag and crossed his fingers for a good result, then Luigi ensured that his combos were the perfect fit for each fighter.  Luigi's combos were fab; Mario's were drab.  No offense to the latter.

"He's gonna do it, you guys!" Squealed a spectator a few seats from Peach.  "L's gonna do it!"  She was painted green from the waist up, dressed merely in black leggings and a green sports bra.

"Don't be so sure," her friend playfully shot back.  She also wore black pants and a sports bra, but the bra was red, matching the paint on her skin.  "I know Mario.  He'll find a way!"

Between the ladies stood another woman, painted in white and wearing a white sports bra and black pants.  An arm was around the waist of her two friends.  Peach and Rosalina studied the three.

"That's an interesting look you have," said Rosa.

"Thanks," said the woman in white.  "The one in green's rooting for Luigi, and the one in red's rooting for Mario.  I'm acting as the buffer."

"Uh-huh.  And the fact that the Italian Flag has the same design has nothing to do with this, am I right?" Asked Peach.

"No," the three said in unison.

"Something tells me that Luigi's going to win this one," mused Rosa.

"How so?" Peach asked her.

"I don't know.  I just feel it."

"A lot of people won't be happy about that," grumbled Peach.

"What's the big deal, anyway?" Rosa huffed.

"I think it's—his combos.  I _know_ it's the combos," said Peach.

"So what if Luigi has combos?  We all have combos!" Rosa snapped.  "You have combos, DK and Diddy have combos, even Koopa—if he'd concentrate less on intimidating people!  Everyone in Smash has combos—why is Luigi's such a fuss?"

"I get you," said Peach.

"I mean, I get flak over my u-air KO-ing at 60% or whatever, but not as badly as Luigi over his combos."

"Maybe it's because—because..." Peach couldn't bear to say it.

"I know," sighed Rosa.

"Did you hear about what Falco said to him?" Peach asked suddenly.

Rosa nodded.  "Is he doing okay?"

"He's getting by.  Falco's spieling about how sorry he is, but..."

"It's not selling?"

"Not with me, and especially not with Mario."

Rosa clenched her fists.  "Just give me fifteen minutes in a room with him," she hissed.

"Something in Luigi's eyes tells me that he wants to take Falco back," said Peach, "but I know he doesn't want to.  And I feel that he shouldn't.  If someone who claims to be your friend lashes out at you over having something they don't, then that's not a true friend."

"Luigi invited him over one night," intoned Rosa.  "I overheard them talking about it.  Luigi sounded very upset and stressed, like he was trying not to cry.  That bird really hurt him."

"I know."

"There was one thing in particular that Falco said, that other Smashers were fed up with his combos, and it made him think about Mario."  She tilted her head towards the stage, where Mario had briefly wrested the upper hand from his bro.  "What if he was secretly resentful of his younger brother having the better combo options?  Which explains—a lot."  Both women had felt Luigi's pulsing emotions, traveling outwards like heatwaves or shockwaves.  "He—Luigi—spoke for a very long time.  I mean, he was really saying his piece.  And then—he asked Falco why.  Why he said those wicked things to him."

"And what did Falco say?"

Rosa scoffed.  "More about how sorry he was.  That he'd never act like that again.  I could _feel_ the frustration in Luigi's voice as he asked that bird to leave.  Then, I heard his music and his breathing, and I knew that he was dancing it off.  And Luigi hasn't spoken to Falco since."

"He needs to move on," Peach said quietly.

"Agreed."

They fell silent as they watched Luigi slowly but surely take the lead back.  At this point, Falco, Ethan, and the rest of the die-hard Mario fans knew.  It was over.

Mario knew, too, but he wasn't someone who lost quietly.  He threw Smash attacks, fought defensively, and rallied when he could, but at this point, he was simply delaying the inevitable.  And at long glorious last, it finally happened.  Luigi grabbed Mario, flashed him a quick, remorseful smile, and then spun him three times before flinging him into the blast zone.

"GAME!"

Anna hopped up and down, cheering, while Vanessa and Theo smiled graciously and clapped.  Falco and Ethan, however, sat in slack-jawed disbelief.  The rest of the Mario fans reacted with varying degrees of displeasure and graciousness.

"This game's winner is—Luigi!"

**1.1.1**

Both sides were in surprisingly good spirits when Luigi's victory was announced.  Afterwards, Mario rushed over and practically jumped into Luigi's arms in a show of good sportsmanship.  Seeing them hug elicited another big sigh of relief from the crowd.  All was well; the Mario Bros still loved each other.

Falco shook his head and slunk away unseen.  Ethan managed to force a smile, so as not to make his parents and sister suspicious.

Meanwhile, the avian met up with Vince, Manny and Shane outside, where the other conspirators and a decent-sized contingent of Mario fans had congregated.

"We did it," said Falco, beaming.

"Yes, we did," said Vince.

"What do you have for us?" Manny wanted to know.

"I think I've snared a family," reported Falco, "especially the son.  I'll see if they can bring them over tonight."

"And will you have an answer to our question?" Shane asked.

"I'll have made a final decision by then," Falco stated confidently.

"Good," nodded Vince.  "We're proud of you.  Keep up the good work."

**1.1.1**

Mario strode briskly down the corridor, jaw clenched, looking straight ahead.  Slung over his shoulder was a bag containing a towel, shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, a sponge a comb, a brush and a change of clothes.  Ignoring the gazes of people around him, he continued towards his destination, trying not to think about the display some of his fans had put on after the match.  They acted like he failed them by losing, that he should be ashamed of himself!  What was their deal?  Was it because he lost to Luigi?  They sure didn't act like this when he lost to someone else!

He flung open the doors to the locker room and tossed his bag onto the first bench he saw.  He pulled out his phone, opened his music library and selected one of his playlists.  Then, he set the playlist on loop, turned up the volume full blast and hit "play".  His sweaty clothes flew off like a whirlwind, and he grabbed his shampoo, conditioner, body wash and bath sponge before stepping into the shower and turning the water on.

As the water poured over him, Mario took several deep breaths, calming down.  He had no reason to be angry.  He just needed to practice!  He couldn't stop himself from cursing under his breath in Italian, couldn't stop the hot, frustrated tears falling from his eyes.  There went his win-loss record!  What was everyone going to think of him now?!

He snatched up his sponge, wet it, squirted a perfect amount of shower gel onto it and got it good and soapy before getting himself good and soapy.  He began humming along to one of the songs from his phone.  The frustration of losing began to dull.  It felt so good to jump into a shower after something like this.  His shower gel smelled of lavender and vanilla, with a slight hint of mint.  He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, immersing himself in the relaxing scents.  Then, he rinsed it all off.  The water swirling down that drain was so dirty and murky.  He waited till the swirl was clear again before taking the shampoo, squirting it onto his palm and working it into his hair from root to tip.  He applied some more shampoo and tackled his scalp, leaving a cool, tingling feeling.  He made sure to get the bangs along the back of his neck.  Finally, he tilted his head back and rinsed his locks.  He stood there until the water was no longer soapy, and finally he straightened, turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried off.

He felt better already.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, stood before a mirror, squeezed on the leave-in conditioner and then combed out his hair.  Once the tangles were combed away, he brushed it and then styled it in his usual way.

He headed back over to his spot and pulled on a clean pair of briefs.  But as he was about to pull on his overalls, he heard footsteps.

"Hey," said a voice.

Mario turned.  Luigi stood there with his own duffel bag, his hair in slight disarray.

"How'd you know I was here?" Mario wanted to know.

"I didn't, really.  The first place I checked was..."

"Why would I be in Master Hand's office?" Mario asked innocently, though he already knew.

Luigi gave him a look.  "After we hugged, I went to talk to some of my fans, and then I saw you—fuming a little."

"I wasn't—no—I wasn't..." Mario tried to reassure him.

"And you just—stormed off."

"I wasn't going to complain to MH.  I needed to clear my head," explained Mario.  "Some of my fans reamed me out for losing to you."

"Wow," said Luigi.  He set down his duffel bag and sat next to Mario.

"You fought really well, by the way," added Mario.

"So did you."  Luigi spoke without looking at him.

"Is—something wrong?"

Luigi's eyes flashed as they met his bro's.  "I knew you were getting upset back there," he said evenly.  "You were trying to hide it from me, but..."

"I wasn't upset at you."

"I know about your win-loss record, Mario.  I know winning against me would've saved it."

"I'll eat well, rest and start again tomorrow," Mario said quietly.

"That wasn't what I was picking up when I saw you storm off somewhere."

"Like I said, I needed to cool off, so I went here.  How long were you outside the office?"

"I knelt there, and I listened, but I didn't hear anything, so that's when I figured you might be in the showers.  When I got there, I heard sniffling."

"Losing that match bummed me out, but I don't hold you responsible," said Mario.

"You were cursing, too."

"I wasn't cursing you."

Luigi blinked.  "Then who were you cursing?"

"I—I don't know.  But because I took a shower, I feel better."

Mario pulled on a shirt and then shimmied into another pair of coveralls.  "You seem a little cross.  Fighting me is exhausting, huh?"

"That was a sickening display the majority of your fans put on," murmured Luigi as he got ready for his own shower, kicking off his boots and pulling off his peppermint-stripe socks.  "Some of them were nice, but..."

"I'll talk to them."

"I just—I—I go back to your behavior on that tennis court, and then..."

"I meant to broach that subject with you," Mario broke in.  "Lil' Bro, you need to make your decision about him, because I sure as the Inferno made mine.  Do you want to let him back in, or not?"

"I just want to know why he said what he said.  I look at him and—it hurts.  Honestly, Bro, what do you think I should do?"

"I can't tell you how to act regarding a friend, but my honest advice to you is—move on from him.  A friend like that is only gonna bring you more heartache."

Luigi wriggled out of his overalls and peeled off his shirt.  "I just wanted him to tell me _why_ ," he said, eyes dim with pain.  "I asked him, and he wouldn't tell me!  Why won't he just tell me?"

Mario, however, was distracted by his bro's current condition.  Bruising couldn't begin to describe what he saw on his chest, abdomen and torso.  It was—it was a splotchy mess of purple and black, and there was swelling, too.  Probably from those punches, kicks and where the dunks had smashed him into the stage floor.  Mario couldn't help but wince.  He hated seeing Luigi hurt, just like Luigi hated seeing Mario injured.  The younger presently had his head bowed, but Mario knew that there were facial injuries, as well.

"And nowadays, he just sulks in his seat with his booze, pretending to root for me by dressing up in green, but the _look_ on his face—he glowers at me like I'm some sort of _eyesore_ ," Luigi went on.  "That night in the restaurant, he said he was sorry, but I don't see his sorrow.  I don't see his remorse."  He raised his head, revealing a battered, tear-soaked face.  "After I fought Koopa, and he was ranting to MH, Falco came up to me, and all I could think about was that he was the first to ever sling his contempt over my combos at me.  And this was after Koopa taunted and mocked me before we fought.  Two days after that, Falco walked in on me training, and I had that anger to let out, so we went a few rounds.  I calmed down, and I thought I was ready to forgive Falco and renew our friendship.  But that night, he showed up at my bedroom door with one of those tubs of ice cream.  We ate it while making small talk and watching comedies.  Then, I gave him a real talking-to about what he'd said to me.  He didn't interrupt me at all; he just listened.  It was going great until I asked him why he lashed out at me, what made him think it was okay.  And..." He trailed off.  "I got nothing!  Just more on how sorry he was and that he'd never do so again!  Does _that_ remind you of anything?"

"Luigi—based on what you just told me—he's going to keep doing it.  And if being near Falco is painful, then you shouldn't be near him at all.  I think you should end your friendship with Falco, pronto.  Because—what kind of friend does that?"

"A bad one."

"More like someone trying to be one," said Mario.

Luigi unzipped his duffel bag and extracted his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, body scrub, towel, hair spray, comb, brush and change of clothes.  He whipped off his hat and smoothed his hair.  "And then the part where he said—he said everyone else was feeling the same way.  And it made me think about you and that afternoon on that tennis court and..."

"I don't feel like that at all.  Don't let him get to you."

"That's easy to say, but so hard to do.  I keep thinking about me and you, and you and me, and how you're viewed compared to how I'm viewed.  They _needed_ you to win, because you're the mascot and I'm just your wingman."

"Luigi, I..." Mario trailed off.  His younger bro had a point there.  "That didn't stop you from giving it all you had, and I'm proud of that."

"Are you?  Or are you just acting that way so I won't see how upset you are?"

"I'm not upset that I lost to you.  I'm upset that everyone's giving me grief over losing to you."

"Is that why you ground your shoe into my foot after that tennis tournament?  Everyone hated you for losing to me, and so you used that as an excuse to have a laugh at my expense?"

"No!" Mario was horrified at the thought.  "I don't—I don't know why I did that, all right?  Maybe I _was_ a little mad at you.  I wish I can undo it, but I can't.  And I know there's no excuse for it."

"That's right.  There isn't."

Mario flushed.  "Why are we talking about this?  We should be celebrating your victory."

"That fight was intense.  My blood's still pumping.  Maybe I'll calm down after I get in the shower."

"Yeah," Mario said softly.

"Let me ask you something before I do that, though.  If you'd lost to Peach, or to Koopa, or DK or Diddy or Toad or anyone else, would you have reacted the same way?"

"Well—I..." Stammered Mario before falling into defeated silence.

Luigi nodded.  "I didn't think so," he stated calmly.  "I'll see you later."

He patted Mario on the shoulder, grabbed his bathing supplies, stripped off his briefs and stepped into the shower.  Methodically, Mario buttoned his overalls while listening to the running water and his brother sighing and moaning and humming and lathering.  Finally, he slid on his cap, tossed his old clothes into the laundry chute, grabbed his duffel bag and walked out of the locker room.

Luigi was right.  The shower helped cool his fire.  Today, he lathered up four times, his motions delicate, aware of the bruises peppering his body.  By the time he turned his attention to his hair, they hurt less.  After another four washes, he rubbed in the conditioner, enjoying the cooling effect it had on his scalp.  Finally, he turned the temperature to its coldest setting and let it flow over him, eyes closed, rolling his neck occasionally and breathing deeply.

He shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, dried himself and then combed and brushed his hair back into its normal shape.  Then, he slipped into his new clothes, sent off his old clothes to be washed, grabbed up his stuff and left the locker room in exponentially better spirits.

**1.1.1**

Later that night, the conspirators of Project Nerf were gathered at the Bennigan estate.

"You have all worked very hard," said Vincent, with a beaming smile.  "Thanks to you, you have netted in new supporters to our cause.  As a reward, our chefs have prepared this magnificent feast of glazed ham, broccoli and cheese, sweet potato casserole, peach cobbler and vanilla bean ice cream, along with a salad bar and drinks all around!"

Everyone cheered.

"Dig in, everyone!" Manny laughed, and that's exactly what they did.

Once everyone was served, Shane spoke up.  "I'd like our newcomers to introduce themselves, please."

"Hi," said Ethan.  "My name is Ethan, and this is my sister Anna."

"Hello!" Anna chirped.

"I'm Theo, and this is my wife, Vanessa."

"I'm Darryl."

"My name is Harold."

"Marion."

"Marcus."

"Abby."

"Kay."

"Bianca."

"Michele."

The introductions went on.  When they were finished, Vince smiled.

"Welcome to Project Nerf.  Our mission is to even the competitive balance in the Smash tournaments by taming Luigi's combo game.  Nightly, we hear speeches and presentations from our members, followed by a discussion of strategies and approaches.  Our ultimate goal is to bring this plight to Master Hand's attention, so that he may inform Nintendo's higher-ups and initiate a process culminating in the application of a just nerf to Luigi."

"Why can't we just buff other fighters to give them a better chance against Luigi?" Marion asked.

"Those fighters are already strong.  It's just Luigi and his combos needing toning down," explained Vince.

Marion blinked.  "Oh."

"At this time, I'd like to invite our new members to speak about their experiences and why they decided to join us," said Manny.

Ethan jumped out of his seat yelling, "Pick me!  Pick me!"

"All right, Ethan, can you tell us what brought you here today?"

Ethan beamed as he began:

"Hi, as I said before, my name is Ethan, and my family and I are from Oakland.  I'm an avid Smash fan and have played Melee, Brawl and the current incarnation.  I main Mario, but I can also play Marth very well.  Speaking of which..." He turned to the Altean prince.  "...it's an honor to finally meet you in person."

Marth blushed.  "Thanks, Ethan."

"I _loved_ you in Melee!" Ethan went on, "and the thing you do with the Tip is so awesome!  I..."

"Ethan," Manny broke in, "speak first, fanboy later."

"Uh.  Okay," said Ethan.  "So, I play Smash a lot, mostly as Mario, but—I don't do well against Luigi players."

"Why not?" Vince asked.

"I get stuck in combos a lot, and I when I try to escape, they always catch me.  Pit me against any other character, and I'll mop the ground with them, but against Luigi..."  He dropped his head.  "Once I came really close, but the opponent got the drop on me."  His shoulders jiggled.  "I'm the laughingstock of every Smash community I'm in, all because of Luigi!  Everybody laughs at and makes fun of me, and it's _all his fault_!"  He slammed the table with his fists, breathing heavily.

"Ethan Richard, calm down, or we are leaving," admonished Vanessa.

"I'm sorry," Ethan sullenly mumbled.  "It's just that—I'm tired of always losing to Luigi players and then having them dump on me."

"Don't worry, Ethan," smiled Vince.  "Stick with us, and you'll never lose to another Luigi player again."

Ethan grinned.  "Cool!" He trilled.

Theo put a hand on Ethan's shoulder.  "I'm his dad," he said, "and I'm here today, along with my lovely wife and two adorable children, because I bore witness to a total disgrace.  That disgrace, of course, was Super Mario's defeat at the hands of his sidekick brother.

"My son and daughter love Mario.  He makes him feel like they can achieve anything.  I buy them the latest Mario games, take them to the Nintendo World store so they can talk to him, give them Mario dolls.  I let them dress up like him and celebrate their birthdays with Mario-themed parties.  Who are they supposed to look up to now?"

Grumbles.

"We have nothing personal against Luigi.  We think Luigi's great.  But he's greatest when he stays in his place as Player Two," said Theo, "and while Vanessa and I think that Theo shouldn't entirely blame Luigi for his woes, what we saw today convinced us that something must be done."

"Hi," said Vanessa.  "I'm Ethan's mom, and—I also main Princess Peach.  Theo and I team up against other players, late at night when the kids are in bed, and he plays as Mario."

"Aww..." Cooed the others.

"It's so much fun.  I mean one time, we were fighting against two Greninjas, and they were spamming their neutral-B moves, but I just pulled out Toad and no-selled them every time.  We won when I did the Peach Bomber and knocked them offstage.  Mario and Peach are so adorable together.  They should get married!"

Laughter.

"Anyway, I tried Luigi once.  He...didn't really grow on me as much as Peach.  His moves make no logical sense and the number of combos he had gave me a headache.  I wanted to help Ethan improve his skills so he could fare better against his friends, but..." She sighed.  "We fight sometimes over him.  We make up, but it's so taxing.  Luigi's combo game is straining my relationship with Ethan, and I don't like that."

"How is it straining your relationship?" Manny wanted to know.

"I try to encourage him to keep an open mind and help him realize that instead of sulking and bad-mouthing Luigi, he should study him and find his weak spots.  That's why I picked up Luigi for a while.  We'd play Smash together, and then I'd pull out the L so he can practice for the next time he faces a Luigi player.  But he just...gives up."  She sighed.  "If Luigi didn't have those combos, maybe I can enjoy a better relationship with my son."

Mumbles of agreement.

"And Anna—his sister—he picks on her when he defends Luigi."  Vanessa shook her head.  "That man in green and his combos are trying to ruin our family!"

"Anna?  Is there anything you'd like to say?" Shane gently asked.

"Mom's right.  I try to make Ethan see that Luigi's not that bad, and then he gets really mad at me like Luigi is the enemy.  But he's not a bad guy!  He helps Mario beat the real bad guy!"

Koopa grumbled from where he sat.

"I mean, I play as Mario a lot, but I also play as Luigi on the side.  I learned how to both play as Luigi and against him, and that's more than I can say for _some_ people."

"Anna," chided Theo.

"What are your thoughts on what you saw today?" Manny asked.

"Everybody loses sometimes," Anna said wisely.  "Even Super Mario.  But I know he'll take that loss and use it to get better, like Mom tells Ethan and I to do.  Right, Mom?"

"That's my girl," said Vanessa.

One by one, Vince, Manny and Shane interviewed the other new "recruits" of Project Nerf.  They received an insight into their personal lives and their perceptions of Luigi.  Some thought that he was an okay guy, fun to learn, but frustrating to beat.  Others thought that he was extremely overpowered and had an unfair advantage over the other Smashers.  More believed that he was making their win-loss records in competitive Smash suffer.  Many argued that Mario was the better brother, the one with the stronger reputation, and that he deserved to win.  And some accused Luigi of spawning arguments with families at the dinner table or with friends, either because friends or family members were trying in vain to overcome him, or because they had conflicting views of him and his combo game, or because their efforts to best him were eclipsing their quality time, or because someone was trying to help them improve against him, or because they were being laughed at for allowing the second player to beat them.  Or something like that.

"Interesting," said Vince.  "I'm glad you ran into our friends this afternoon.  Feel free to chat them up at the conclusion of tonight's meeting."

He turned to Falco.  "Is there something you'd like to say?"

Falco cleared his throat.  "I've given this a lot of thought," he began, "and after what happened with Mario, I've made my commitment.  I have decided to continue as an active member of Project Nerf.  There is no turning back.  I now realize that the key to reconciling with Luigi lies in eliminating those combos."

Manny beamed.  "Wise decision," he said.  "We look forward to hearing a presentation from you.  Finally, things are moving along in our plan.  And we must say, we're very happy with the Mario fans you've brought along tonight."

Falco blushed.

"Now," said Shane as more food and drink was set out, "let's eat, drink and be merry!  Good times ahead, indeed!"

The conspirators couldn't have agreed more.

**1.1.1**

Back in the Smash Mansion, the other Smashers were fast asleep.  Save for two.

Armed with a few sweat towels and a Gatorade, Mario strode toward the Training Room.  His steps were quiet but purposeful.  Only his eyes betrayed his eagerness and excitement.

Carefully, he pushed open the door and entered.  Luigi was already waiting for him, seated casually on the floor.  He also had sweat towels and Gatorade nearby.

The man in green rose when he saw his big bro.  They strode toward each other till they were nose-to-nose.  To Mario's relief, Luigi's face was softer than during their talk in the locker room.  And Mario's own frustration had long since passed.

Both bros raised their fists, staring intently into the other's eyes.

Mario was the first to speak.  "Let's-a go."

"Okie-dokie," Luigi replied.

And the spar began.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. T Minus 17 Days

It was as if yesterday's battle never happened.  There were no hard feelings between the Mario Bros; they were still thicker than thieves.  This was always the norm; they needed a little cooling off, and whatever argument or altercation that came between them was ancient history.  Their actions last night contributed significantly.  After exchanging some blows, they took off their shirts and sparred until a Mii happened upon them and sent them to bed.  But it had helped.  Mario had been too exhausted to think about his loss.  And so the Bros bade each other good night, showered and went to sleep.

The day commenced as usual.  Breakfast, preparing for the day's bouts, and then fighting the day's bouts.  Luigi had opted for a cool blue and dark turquoise ensemble, and the sight of him on this stage and that stage, battling opponents, was nothing short of mesmerizing.  All through the morning and afternoon, Luigi kept his blood pumping, still wired from yesterday's victory, body dancing, weaving, spinning, twirling, tripping up the day's opponents before diving into his combos.  There was the flash of ice blue and turquoise, a cap nearly bouncing off waves of brown, a quick smile, a peek of tongue, a rounded mouth, that sheen of sweat on his skin—who _couldn't_ be satisfied by that—except Falco, Marth, Roy, Kyle, Mewtwo and their fellow conspirators?

Mario was just glad that things were okay between him and his baby bro.  In spite of the attitudes of his fans, Luigi didn't take it out on him.  That wasn't his style.  However little attention people paid him, he was just happy to help.  Sure, it got to him sometimes, but he found ways to deal.

Only a fortnight after their match, Mario showed up to all of Luigi's bouts, cheering alongside Peach.  A few Toads had shown up to console him over yesterday, and he always changed the subject.  Dwelling on it wouldn't change the fact that he'd lost.  Then, he'd go fight his own bouts, fantasizing about the day when Falco would stand across from him, but he was content with today's lineup.  Fighting Sonic once in a while was good, along with DK, Greninja, Falcon and Marth—especially Marth.  He'd become snobby lately, causing a rift between him and the Bros.  Judging by what he saw the last time the blue-haired prince fought Luigi, Mario had some clue why.

He also hoped to fight Kyle someday.  Something about that Mii rubbed him the wrong way.

Mario watched Luigi's fights, and Luigi watched Mario's fights.  When they weren't in a bout or watching the other's bouts, they were sharing pizza or pasta and making small talk.  Luigi was happy that his win didn't harm their relationship.  Mario had once again stood firm against temptation.

Later that afternoon, Luigi faced Dark Pit on Palutena's Temple.  It was just as rough a fight as yesterday's, maybe harder.  A good-sized majority of the spectators were on the dark angel's side, Falco included.  And the match actually started off in Pittoo's favor.  He fired off arrows to halt Luigi's approach.  He baited him and then slashed with his dual blades.  Luigi tried combos, but he didn't get very far.  And of course, there were the electro-turbo-thingies Pittoo liked to spam.  Ugh.  Still, Luigi wouldn't give up.

"You can do this, Luigi," Mario whispered from the stands, his presence quiet and understated.  "I know you can.  If you can defeat me, then you can defeat him."

Peach laid a hand over his.

"You fought really well yesterday, you know," she said quietly.

Mario's eyes twinkled.  "Thanks."

"But you helped train him, kind of.  I saw it as the pupil finally surpassing the master."

"Come to think of it—yeah, it was," said Mario.  "I remember how bad he used to be, and..."  He took a deep breath.  "The first tournament was awful to him.  He was in last place, he was floaty, his short hop was too high, and he was lucky if he won one match a week."

"But he never gave up," Peach said firmly, "and it paid off."

She kissed his cheek.  "You two are a team.  You do better together than apart.  I wish those fans from yesterday remembered that."

"So do I."

They turned at the sound of a gasp and saw Luigi fluidly dodging between and underneath Pittoo's blades.  The dark angel himself had a few bruises and a fat lip, but he was still dominating the fight.

"Yeah, Pittoo!" Someone hooted.  "You show that green cheapskate who's boss!"

"Don't listen to him, Luigi!" Someone else retorted.  It was Chad, once again sitting a row behind Mario.  "Never let up!  C'mon, guys—say it with me!"

"Never let up!  Never let up!" Luigi's fans chanted, louder, faster, when they saw him beginning to rally.

"Pittoo rules!  Luigi drools!"  Pittoo's fans shouted back.

"Never let up!  Never let up!"

"Pittoo rules!  Luigi drools!"

As much as Falco wanted to join in, he didn't dare.  He knew Mario would see, and then he'd be in more trouble.  He'd cooled off over losing to his brother, but not over what the avian said to him.  Mario gave Falco an aside glance.  His stance was pretty blatant right now; he wore a t-shirt with Dark Pit's face on it and some black jeans.  Mario's hands clenched into fists, and he started breathing heavily.  A sweltering feeling came over him, and he pressed his lips together to keep from crying out in rage.  Peach leaned into her plumber and felt the heat and the hate leaking from his body.  She held on to him, to calm him, to restrain him, to save him from embarrassing himself.

"It's okay," she whispered in his ear.  "It's gonna be okay.  His day will come soon.  Soon..."

Mario heaved a big sigh and relaxed.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The red-capped plumber faced the speaker.  "Yes?"

Vanessa stood with a sullen-looking Ethan.  "My son has something he'd like to tell you," she said.  "Don't you, Ethan?"

Ethan shuffled forward and held out a bowl of beautifully-arranged power-ups.  "I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday," he said, a little flatly.  "It was unsportsmanlike and wrong, and I know you fought your best."

Mario studied Ethan as the boy placed the bowl onto his lap.  He'd never forget the apoplectic look on the kid's face when he came at him, screaming reproaches and insults at him, throwing Mario-related merchandise in his face and even taking swings at him.  Ethan had been among the worst of Mario's disgruntled fans.  The fact that they could easily turn on him just because his younger brother beat him made his stomach turn.  And whoever started all of this obviously started indoctrinating people at a very young age.

"Thank you, Ethan," Mario said simply.  "This was very kind of you."

"I still like your video games," cooed Ethan.

"Yes, well—you won't be playing them—or any video game—for a month," said Vanessa.  "Mario, please except our sincere apology.  He was taught better than this.  And his father and I have already had a discussion about this.  We assure you that this will never happen again."

 _A month.  After the way he acted, a month?_   But Mario gave them a smile similar to Luigi's smile when battling somebody, and said, "I appreciate you coming down here.  Tensions were pretty high yesterday, but I get that sometimes people say things they don't really mean."

"That's right," said Ethan.  "I didn't mean it.  My friends pick on me, and..."

"Ethan," said Vanessa.

"I just want him to understand," whined Ethan.

"That does not excuse what you did.  I suggest you spend this coming month thinking it over."

Ethan dropped his gaze.

"Will you be all right, Mario?" Asked Vanessa.

"Yeah," Mario said, unconvincingly.

"Look at him, Ethan," admonished Vanessa.  "Look at how much you hurt him."

"It's fine," Mario said quickly.

Peach watched them silently, but she didn't need to say anything.  Both Mario and Ethan felt it all behind her gaze.  The latter tugged on his mom's sleeve.  "Can we go now?" He asked.

"Take care, Mario," said Vanessa, before she and Ethan scurried back up the stairs.

Peach followed mother and son with her eyes until they disappeared.  Mario's hand on her shoulder returned her to the present.

"Don't," he pleaded.  "Just—don't.  It's over now, and that won't do anything."

Peach still saw Mario's hurt over the incident.  Saw his eyes squeeze shut and his breath shake.

"He's only a kid, and he acted like that," he whispered.  "God knows what he'll be when he grows up."

"Mario," said Peach, causing him to look up.

She gestured with her head towards the stage.  "He needs you."

He knew what she meant.

**1.1.1**

"We can be more proactive toward those who play this game," Crazy Hand was saying to Master Hand, gesturing animatedly.  "We'll compile a list of frequent gamers and invite them to participate in a survey, and then ask them what they want, what they need changed—it'll give us a rough estimate of our target demographic, so that Smash will be better tailored around them."

"CH, I like where you're going, but why the sudden interest now?" MH wanted to know.

"It breaks my heart, seeing you worn down like this, hearing complaint after complaint," said CH.  "People say that this tournament is trash, for casuals.  I want to make Smash great again."

"Smash _is_ great," said MH.  "The newcomers were generally well-received, and we've got some memes going, too."

"We're entertainers, my dear Master Hand," CH pressed on, "and entertainers must stay true to the crowd and adapt to the change in the crowd's tastes.  We'll give the gamer crowd a chance to speak their minds, so we'll know what to look for when the next update rolls around."

"Update?  When I decide we're in need of an update, then I'll talk to the suits," said MH.

"You've received a lot of suggestions lately," said CH.

"Suggestions?  More like ranting and screaming and tantrums," huffed MH.  "If I see any legitimate reasons why Luigi's playstyle needs to be adjusted, then I'll take the necessary action."

"If they stopped ranting and instead made a calm, logical argument, what then?" Crazy asked.

"I'll be more receptive to them if they're civil about it," promised MH, "but right now, it's just denouncing and mudslinging.  There's no basis.  They don't tell me _why_ Luigi needs to be nerfed; they just tell me that he needs to be nerfed and that he's Player Two and that he defeated them and made them laughingstocks.  Which is overexaggerating, if you ask me."

"You want this tournament to be fair and balanced, right?"

MH nodded.  "Right."

"Then if your Smasher don't think it's fair and balanced, then shouldn't you address their concerns?"

"If they're presented calmly, yes."

"What if—what if they don't have to come to you at all?  You can give _them_ the survey!  And it can be anonymous—they don't have to name any names!  And make it online, so it can be accessible on their phones!"  CH was starting to get excited.

MH gestured toward the big box with a small slit cut on top.  "We already have our suggestion box over there, which is also anonymous."

"Yeah, but—the Smashers' handwriting is easily recognizable by now.  They've known each other for—sixteen years!  Online, you can set constraints, like—like—no foul language."

"Crazy, I'm fine.  The profanity doesn't bother me anymore."

"Okay, well—how about this?  Arrange one-on-one interviews with the Smashers and ask them about their own mechanics and what they think of their fellow Smashers' mechanics--if they're too strong, if they're too weak, if they want new stage options.  Just start at the top of the roster, and then work your way down—in alphabetical order!  You know, A,B,C,D,E,F,G..."

"Crazy..."

"...H,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P..."

"Crazy..."

"...Q,R,Z,T,U,V..."

"Crazy!"

"...W,X,Y,Z!  Huh?!  That's all you have to do!"

"Okay—thanks for reminding me that you know the alphabet," said MH.  "I'll take it into consideration, especially since you asked me nicely."

CH threw his fingers around his twin.  "You're the best!  Thank you!"

"You're welcome," said MH.

CH released MH and floated out the door.  "Oh.  Hello," he said innocently to a fuming Dark Pit, who'd been waiting outside.

Dark Pit marched into the office, slamming the door after him.

Smiling to himself, CH teleported away.

**1.1.1**

Tonight's meeting was at Chuck-E-Cheese's, one of Dark Pit's favorite hangouts, in a bid to cheer him up.  The conspirators filled up on pizza and hot wings, soda, sundaes, and shakes before getting down to business.

"Our friend, Crazy Hand, had a talk with his twin this afternoon," Vince announced.  "He plans to survey frequent Smash players.  If he can get enough suggestions of a nerf against Luigi, it can be the push we need for MH to reach out to the suits."

"What a clever guy," mused Chase.

"He plans to have the surveys be anonymous.  The participants won't have to give their names, or explicitly name Luigi.  If they provide enough clues, then MH will know what they're talking about."

"I think that's a step in the right direction," opined Falco.  "With anonymity, we won't have to worry about _him_ sniffing us out."

"But we have to exercise self-restraint," cautioned Manny.  "Profanities aren't allowed in these kinds of surveys.  By forcing us to be professional, these surveys will advance our efforts."

"We have a suggestion box," said Marth.  "We write on a piece of paper and slip it into the slot, and the box is hand-delivered to the suits."

"The Internet is easier, in my opinion," shrugged Rolf.

"How do you know _he_ doesn't sniff around that box, deciphering who wrote what?" Falco put in.

"Were you always this paranoid?" Koopa asked the avian.

"Hey, you can never be too sure," warned Falco.

"We've had that suggestion box since—forever," Roy said softly.

Murmurs.

"We'll talk to CH and see if we can work out a compromise," said Vince.  "In the meantime, let's invite Dark Pit to get whatever he's feeling off his chest."

Applause as Pittoo strode forward.

"How was your fight?" Shane asked.

"I lost.  But what else is new?"

Grumbles.

"And the worst part is—I was _winning_!  Most of that fight, I dominated him!  But he just had to go and pull out those God—m combos!  I knew there were people looking up to me and—I let them down!"

"Hey, the good thing is, you gave him a good beating beforehand," Shane offered.

"Still, it would've been better if I won," sighed Dark Pit.

"We still need work on presenting our cases to MH, I see," said Manny.

"C'mon, man—it helps us let off steam," argued Dark Pit.

"To the detriment of our mission," said Manny.  "Every second you stand there yelling at MH is a second lost."

"Well, the good news is, this survey will help me better—express—my feelings to the good MH," smiled Dark Pit.  "Hey, Ethan.  You okay?  You look a little glum."

"Mom made me apologize to Mario," grumbled the teen, "and then she grounded me."

"Then how did you get here?" Marth asked.

Ethan grinned.  "I sneaked out."

Kyle whooped.  "Good for you!"

"Yeah!  Never be afraid to question authority!" Rolf led the charge.

"And you should never be afraid to question what your parents say," said Marion.  "You wanna know why?  Because they're full of..."

Manny cut him off.  "It appears there's another wrinkle in our plan," he stated, "but Ethan is working his way around it, so there's no need to worry.  For now."

"Well, we _were_ kinda mean to poor Mario last afternoon," Michele put in.

"Yeah, we were a bit harsh, but at least we told him the truth," shrugged Ethan.  "Now I can't watch TV or play video games or hang out in the park after school for a month!  I _hate_ Luigi, and I hate his combos!  They.  Ruined.  _Everything_!"

Darryl nodded.  "If MH hears how this is destroying families, he'll nerf that plumber in a heartbeat."

"Let's—not get too far ahead of ourselves, shall we?" Vince cautioned.  "Tempers are high, and a little—cooling off—is in order."  He cracked a smile.  "Let's go play some games!"

"All in favor, say 'aye'!" Manny chimed in.

"Aye!" Everyone shouted, and they all stormed toward the play area.  Personal and professional troubles all but forgotten.

 


	16. T Minus 16 Days

Chad took a deep breath, and then another, as he stood on the battlefield alongside Luigi.  All he could think was that this was major déjà vu.  He was once again partnered with the plumber for a Team Battle.  But while he'd despised the arrangement the last time, this time only made him a little nervous.  He felt Luigi's piercing gaze and knew that he was hesitant to trust him.  He had to prove himself and make a better contribution to the battle.  There was also Mario, sitting in the stands, watching them.  Chad was on very thin ice with the hero in red.  One misstep, and it would be all for nothing.

It was a 2-on-2 match on Town and City, and the last match before the lunch break.  Once again, Master Hand had picked the teammates, and while Chad didn't protest this time, he understood the shoes he had to fill.

Chad looked over at his teammate.  "Hey," he said.  "I'm with you."

Luigi nodded.  "Thank you, Chad."

"And we'll have a better chance of smoking those turkeys if we work together."

"It was about time you realized that," said Luigi.  "Remember what we strategized?"

"I do," replied Chad, and Luigi could tell by his tone that he was telling the truth.

They approached center stage to genuine cheers from both sides.  Chad's fans had also realized their error in snubbing Luigi and wanted to help their idol stay on the straight path.  Then, the opposing team stepped forward.

"Hello, Falcon.  Pikachu," greeted Luigi.

"Pika!"

"Hey, L."

"Hi, guys," said Chad.  "Ready to do this?"

"Oh, yeah," said Falcon.

"Pika, pika," chirped Pikachu.

Now, it was Luigi's turn to breathe deeply.  He had bittersweet history with Falcon, as discussed before, but he and Pikachu had practically been at war during Melee.  They'd locked horns over their side specials, and whether or not Luigi was merely copying Pikachu.  People had taken sides, insults had been slung, and there was even a nasty toilet prank involved.  The affair reached its logical apex—physical fistfights—at which point Master Hand finally intervened and engineered a tenuous peace.  A battle against a common enemy cemented it, and the feud cooled off naturally with time.  Still, it stung Luigi that someone who'd been on civil terms with him during the first tournament could turn against him over something so petty.

Just like Falco.  Luigi decided that he needed to take Mario's advice and cut the avian loose before he did more damage.

He shook Falco and his past with Pikachu clear from his mind and opened his eyes.

"You all right, Luigi?" Chad asked with concern.

"Yeah—just thinking."

"Yeah, I, uh, heard about—you and Pikachu.  Didn't you work things out?"

"We did.  Doesn't stop it from hurting."

Pikachu hung his head.  He'd been such a fool during Melee.  And what he said and did during their clash couldn't be unsaid or undone.

"Chad and Luigi—VS—Captain Falcon and Pikachu!" Master Hand's booming voice announced.

The audience cheered.

"Good luck," Chad said sincerely to Falcon and Pikachu.

"You, too," replied Falcon.

The four exchanged handshakes and prepared for battle.

"3...2...1...GO!"

"Show me ya moves!" Captain Falcon called to his opponents, snapping off a crisp salute.

Chad and Luigi positioned a fighting stance, waiting for the opposing team to strike first.

Pikachu used Thunder Jolt, but Luigi and Chad managed to dodge the lightning bolts.  Luigi retaliated by throwing fireballs while Chad faced down Falcon.  The racer went for a Falcon Dive, but Chad leaped back and kicked him soundly in the torso before unleashing a series of quick, but hard strikes.  Pikachu saw his teammate in peril and tried to help, but Luigi intercepted him, jab-locked, and then grabbed.

While Luigi began executing combos on Pikachu, Chad hit Falcon with an elbow strike and then a drop-kick, sending the racer to the floor.  He grabbed his ankle as he tried to get up and then threw him skyward, dealing an acrobatic, upwards no-look kick before smashing him back down with a soaring axe kick.  Finally, he unleashed body blows against Falcon before sending him sprawling with another powerful kick.

Just then, Pikachu escaped Luigi's combo and nailed him with a strong, electrical attack.  Chad swooped in with a suplex kick, knocking the electric mouse.

"I got you," he said.

Luigi hopped up.  "I got you first," he retorted.

Their opponents recovered and dashed toward them.  Luigi didn't even miss a beat, dropping to the ground and hitting them both with a flare kick, flinging them both in the air.  Chad chased after Pikachu, while Luigi chased after Falcon.  Pikachu's light weight made it easier for Chad to combo, but the iconic mouse had volts upon volts of electricity stored in his cheeks, electricity which he put to very good use.  Chad found himself victim to Pikachu's forward smash more than once.  And then there was Thunder.  Pikachu could summon a large, painful lightning bolt which could meteor when the opponent was near the accompanying thunder-cloud.  Chad's bruiser style was no match for _that_ thing.  It always caught him off guard.

Pikachu had Chad clinging to the ledge when something sailed into him—Luigi!  Chad rolled back to safe ground and watched as the electric mouse hurtled beyond the blast line.

"Thanks," he said to Luigi.

"Come on!" Falcon goaded, causing them to whip around to face him.

Chad feinted, tricking the racer into reacting, and then kicked him off his feet before sending an elbow into his face.  Falcon punched him, hard, and then dealt Chad one Hell of a...

"FALCOOOON PAAAAAAWNCH!"

Chad ate pavement, gasping, trying to re-orient himself and get to his feet.  Falcon just stood there, smirking.

"Show me ya moves, Chad!"

Narrowing his eyes, Chad got to his feet and raised his fists, but before he could do anything...

"Pikachu!!"

The white-hot current sent Chad back to the ground.

"Chad!" Luigi shouted, racing into the fray.

"I got this," Falcon said to Pikachu before stopping Luigi with the Knee of Justice and a down smash.  Luigi got back up, glaring defiantly.

"Yes!  Let's see some more moves!" Falcon exhorted.

"You want moves?  You got 'em," Luigi shot back, kicking Falcon hard in the jaw and firing a forward smash at his torso.  He then grabbed him and slammed him down...

Meanwhile, Chad was better able to hold his own against Pikachu, despite being covered in bruises and scorch marks.  He lacked projectiles, but his punches packed a lot of drive and could discombobulate any opponent.  He tried not to remember how Luigi had briefly blacked out during their fight.  Why hadn't he noticed?  Right—he was too busy punching everything holy out of him!

Chad grabbed Pikachu and threw him off the stage, taking another stock with a stage spike.  He whirled just in time to watch Luigi slam a Super Jump Punch into Falcon, making him hurtle offstage.

"Are you all right?" Chad asked, genuinely concerned this time.  Nasty bruises were on Luigi's jaw and over one eye, he was also scorched from Pikachu's electricity, bleeding from several cuts and his mouth, and the rest of his body was likewise battered.

"I'm good.  You?" Luigi asked between gasps.

"I'll live.  Pikachu's on his final stock.  If we can take him, then we can make it."

"Falcon's strong.  There's a chance he can beat both of us," cautioned Luigi.  Then, "Look out!"

"Wha...?" Chad didn't see Falcon's d-air coming and found himself smashed to the ground.  Slightly dazed, he stood and stared down the racer.

"Stay focused; this fight's not over yet!" Falcon crowed.

"Pika-pi!" Pikachu added.

The electric mouse used Quick Attack, only for Chad to intercept him and kick him toward Luigi, who attacked with a n-air, d-air, another n-air, d-air and a flurry of f-airs.  Chad punched Falcon twice in the stomach, twice more in the side and once on the point of his chin before Falcon blocked another to the face and pulled off a Raptor Boost.

"Yes!"

Chad rolled to his knees, only for Falcon to punch him solidly a few more times before unleashing another Falcon Punch.  Then, Pikachu's Thunder sizzled into him, making him spasm.  Pikachu latched onto him then, headbutting him silly and then pinning him down under a powerful pulse of juice.

While this was happening, Luigi was struggling up.  Pikachu had really let him have it.  But he couldn't just stand there while they were double-teaming Chad, even after _he'd_ done so the last time.  Steadily, he pushed himself to his feet and ran to Chad's aid, only to once again be stopped by Falcon.

"I don't think so," smirked the racer before roundhouse kicking him.

Luigi threw fireballs at him, covering his escape, and then slammed into him hard with a misfire.  Falcon was knocked back, and then Chad sprang in with a one-two punch and a spin-kick, sending him tumbling off stage.  He tried to recover, but Luigi was ready for him with his shy dirt kick.

"All right!" Chad cheered.

And then Pikachu's Skull Bash slammed into them both, knocking them in different directions.

Luigi rolled onto his back, pulling air into his lungs, mouth wide open.  Cradling his abdomen, he sat up and looked for Chad.  And then he found him, just as Pikachu sent him offstage, and then Falcon sent him downward with his double-footed stomp.

The heat rose to the plumber's face and he bolted back up, fists clenched.

"I'm okay!" Chad called out to him as he respawned.

Luigi flicked more fireballs at his opponents while Chad threw jabs at anyone who tried to approach.

"I'll cover you," he said to Luigi.  "Go get them!"

"No way!  That'll leave you wide open!" Luigi told him.  "Stick to the plan!"

They leaped aside as Falcon attempted a Falcon Kick.  Luigi speared his hand at him, Chad threw a spinning heel-kick and then Luigi finished the team combo with a Cyclone, catching Pikachu as he tried to intervene.  Chad snagged the electric mouse out of thin air and laid into him with elbow and knee strikes before taking his final stock with a forward suplex.  Luigi ground-pounded Falcon into one last combo before executing an off-stage spike with his d-air, defeating him.

"GAME!"

"Yeah!  Way to go!" Whooped Chad, high-fiving Luigi.

"Great teamwork, Chad," nodded Luigi.  "Thank you."

"Does this make us cool, then?"

"No, but it's a good start."

They walked off-stage together to cheers from the crowd.

"This game's winner is—Blue Team!"

**1.1.1**

A little later, Chad sat with the Mario Bros in the cafeteria, having treated them to burgers, fries and shakes.

"Not to be nosy or anything, but do these Smashers realize how talented you are?" Chad was asking.

"It's not like they don't think I'm talented," sighed Luigi.  "They think I shouldn't be."

"They should be happy you have those combos," said Chad.

"They are when they're paired with me, as you saw yourself," said Luigi, "but can we stop talking about that?"

"Good idea," said Chad.  "You wanna know why I like burgers so much?"

"Why?" Mario asked.

"Twelve or so years ago, I was running a little wild and raising some—well, you know," explained Chad.  "Around 3 a.m., I got hungry and stopped at a burger joint.  But—I found that I couldn't enjoy the burger.  My lifestyle was really messing up my taste buds.  So I sat there, in my car with this burger, and did some soul searching.  If I could no longer enjoy a burger, then what else could I no longer enjoy, should I persist with this behavior?  That was the night I decided to turn my back on that life.  I channeled my frustrations into something constructive, and I joined Smash last year."

"Chad, I understand the tragedy you went through on that fateful day, but why did you act like that toward me?" Luigi demanded.

"I just—felt entitled to winning every time.  Seeing the look on your face after that first Team Battle snapped me out of it."

"Chad—do you realize how many people have put me through that in recent months?"

Chad swallowed.  "I do now."

"I've had teammates treat me with contempt, like you did.  I've had opponents giving Master Hand all sorts of reasons why I suck.  I've had a friend turn on me because I had something he didn't."

"Luigi—I'm sorry.  I don't know what else to say," said Chad.  "I was blind and in my own little world.  But—I showed you that I can change."

"One Team Battle isn't enough," said Mario.

"Bro, I've got this handled," Luigi assured him.  "He's right, though, Chad.  You contributed more to this battle and helped us win.  But it doesn't change your past behavior.  If you really want to make this work, then you have to continue to show that you've changed.  Can you do that?"

"I sure can."

"We both appreciate you showing up to our match," smiled Mario, "and the fact that you weren't salty toward either of us helps a lot.  But our fanbases are like churches.  They welcome converts, but they don't make them Pope the same day."

"Mario—Luigi—I'm gonna find a way to make this right.  I don't care what I have to do.  I don't care what I have to give up.  I'll make this up.  To both of you."

"You're moving in the right direction, Chad," Luigi said softly.

**1.1.1**

"You wanted to see me?" Master Hand asked.

Theo nodded.  "I didn't know who else to call," he said.  "Something's—come over Ethan.  Ever since he watched Mario lose to Luigi..."

"I'm shocked that he's taking it so hard," said MH.

"He's—acting out.  Defying our rules, taking things out on poor Anna and now—he's getting into fights at school.  The Principal summoned us this afternoon."

"You're saying he never acted like this before?"

Theo shook his head.  "He was always a sweet kid.  He _loves_ Mario.  Now he's treating him like some—broken pedestal.  After the match, he said some—savage things to him.  We made him apologize the other day, but—his heart wasn't into it.  You see, he has a hard time beating Luigi players, and he's being mocked for it.  I guess—he reached his limit.  We never had this problem until Luigi got those combos."  He buried his face in his hands.  "Oh, Master Hand, I don't know what to do.  I don't know what to do."

MH exploded.  "You can act like a man!"  He snapped.  "What is the _matter_ with you?  I certainly don't see my Smashers folding at the slightest whiff of adverse circumstances!  'Oh, what do I do?  What do I do?'  My God, pull yourself together!"  He composed himself.  "Wise up, turn your heart and mind toward our Creator.  You're not the only one who's had hardship in your life.  Do you have any other games?"

"Yeah," said Theo.  "We have a bunch of Mario Party games.  We've got Super Mario 64, Sunshine, both Galaxy games, 3D Land, 3D World, the New Super Mario Bros series, some Mario Kart titles, even a few Zelda games."

"Okay, well—maybe what Ethan needs is a break from Smash Bros and some time with those other games—once his punishment is over, of course," said MH.  "And after you've completely cooled off, spend some more time together.  Games are supposed to bring families together, not tear them apart."

Theo smiled gratefully.  "Thank you, MH," he said before exiting the office.

Then, Crazy Hand floated in.  "I've got it!"  He sang out.

"What?"

"The suggestion box can stay.  What I'm thinking is that you conduct little one-on-one interviews with all of the fighters to see if we're doing our job right."

"Interview fifty-odd people?"

"C'mon—it's easier than it sounds," pressed CH.

"I'll—see what I can do.  All right?"

"All right!"  CH then danced out of the office.

"Brothers..." MH grumbled.

**1.1.1**

That night, Crazy Hand pulled some strings for the conspirators to meet in a Mexican restaurant he frequented.  Everyone sat at a large, round table, casually munching on chips and salsa and trying to decide what to order.

"Where's Ethan?" Falco suddenly asked.

"His parents called.  He got into a fight at school," Manny explained.

"My God," breathed Falco.

"He's missing one heck of a dinner," mused Roy.

"He didn't strike me as the type to get into fights," Kyle pointed out.

"I can't believe he blew up at Mario," said Marth.  "That was a wrong move."

"Look at this from Ethan's perspective.  Mario was his role model, and he let him down," said Dark Pit.

"We're all angry about that match, but Ethan's not handling it properly.  He needs to use his anger to power our cause," said Vince.

"The kid he fought probably picked on him, and he decided enough was enough," Marion postulated.

"He still needs to hold on to that anger, let it build, save it for later," said Manny.  "He's using it to destroy but imagine what it can create.  Imagine what our collective rage can create.  We can change the future, change this tournament, if we use our anger to make, not break."

"Now that Ethan's in deep trouble, how can he contribute?" Falco demanded.

"Ethan's a clever kid.  He'll find a loophole to slip through, like he did last night," Shane stated confidently.

"We don't want him to get in more trouble," said Roy.

"Fear not.  I know we'll get through to him," said Vince.  "Now, to change the subject, our benefactor has swayed MH toward the idea of personal interviews."

"With us?" Michele asked.

"No, with the Smashers.  All of them.  Decent art dictates balance, right?  But now Falco, Dark Pit, Koopa and the rest of the gang have the opportunity to air their grievances—politely—and hopefully convince the hand that something must be done about that plumber."

"He's also decided to keep the suggestion box," Shane chimed in.

"Compromise," said Koopa.  "Works every time."

"We'll be on our way to the higher-ups for sure," crowed Steve.

"Hear, hear!" Everyone cheered.

The conspirators finally decided what they wanted from the menu.  In short order, their food arrived, and they began chowing down.

 

 

 


	17. T Minus 15 Days

King Koopa sat eagerly in MH's office, waiting for the interview to begin.  Finally, a chance to tell that glove what he really felt!  Then, he remembered Vince's words.  He had to be calm and professional about it.

Speaking of professional, he was clad in a suit and tie for the occasion, toting a beige briefcase.  He looked sharp and handsome.  MH would be so impressed by his choice of clothes that he'd have no choice but to sit and listen!

Finally, MH floated inside.  "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.

"That's okay," said Koopa.  "Thanks for inviting me."

MH settled himself into his chair.  "I had you brought here because I want to know if this tournament is to your liking.  If you point out any mistakes, I'll have to contact the higher-ups for another update patch."

"Hm.  Interesting."

"As a Smasher, how do you feel about your current playstyle?"

"It's—it's great.  Really great.  Thanks to my bulk, I can take a lot of punches."  Koopa smiled.  "My Flying Slam is my personal favorite.  But it takes my stock first, so if I'm on my last one, my opponent wins.  I think that's the only mechanic that needs changing."

"Noted.  What about the other fighters?  What do you like about them?  What do you not like?"

"I'm glad you asked.  I may be biased, but my beloved archenemy has his Plunger move which gets on my nerves.  But you know what's worse than that?  Those combos!"

"Mario's combos, or...?"

"Greenie's combos, of course!  I'm still steaming from that day he beat me in front of a full house!"  The giant turtle quickly composed himself.  "MH, I think you gave him too much power, and I don't think he knows how to handle it.  Take it from someone who knows.  A lot of power can make you—overconfident."

"I see."

"Greenie's combos are superb, I get it, but it's become a major pain in the neck.  Nobody has a fair chance against him anymore.  Everyone pretty much knows he'll win."

"Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration," said MH.  "He's lost a few, and against larger opponents, he has a little trouble."

"Look, all I'm saying is that Smash is supposed to be fair and balanced, and right now—things don't look fair and balanced."

"That depends on your perception of 'fair and balanced'," said MH.  "What does that mean to you?"

"I see people tearing their hair out and crying because Greenie got the drop on them," sighed Koopa.  "I thought Smash was supposed to be a fun get-together, not people agonizing over being unable to beat somebody."

"Has it ever occurred to you that Luigi performs well because he practices constantly?" MH asked.

"Well—yeah..."

"Then maybe you should practice more?"

"I practice plenty—but that doesn't stop him from reading me before I even make a move.  MH—you know what he's like.  Do you think he can handle so many combo options?"

"Convince me that he can't," challenged MH.

"Or else I wouldn't be here," said Koopa.  "I shouldn't be telling you this, but a few weeks ago, somebody, and I'm not going to name names, finally called Luigi out on this.  And you know how Luigi reacted?  He took it personally, stopped speaking to the other Smasher—essentially declared that they were no longer friends.  And all the other guy was doing was trying to help!  What's worse, Greenie turned everyone against the guy!"

"I see.  But I need formal, objective testimonials, not a heated exchange between two of my Smashers.  I shall speak with Luigi and the other party involved on this matter, but until I receive more physical proof, I can't consult the higher-ups on this."

"Fear not—I have the testimonials right here," said Koopa, extracting a thick manila folder from his briefcase.  "A good friend of mine helped me compile them."  He set the folder on the desk.  "Happy reading, Master Hand."

MH stared warily at the folder.  This would take a while.

"I have interviews to conduct," he said crisply, putting the folder away, "but thank you.  But I can't help but ask—why is Luigi the target of most of these complaints?  Other Smashers have some powerful moves—yet they don't receive as much salt."

"Unlike Greenie, those other Smashers can better handle criticism against it.  But God help you if you dare criticize his combos, especially to his face.  He'll sic Mario on you—if you're lucky."

"Maybe it's the way he's being criticized, which consists of you going to my office and screaming at me.  I'm not screamed at over the other Smashers.  They're not accused of being overpowered.  If you want to help yourself against Luigi's combos, putting on a song-and-dance to me won't do the trick.  Maybe you just need to change the way you approach them."

"But aren't we as Smashers entitled to our opinions?"

"Absolutely.  That's why I communicate with the higher-ups regarding update patches.  But those update patches require more than simply tirades against a single Smasher.  And maybe—you need to be less hostile when airing your opinions to others."

"I don't think that guy was hostile, in my opinion."

"I'll talk to them about this and decide the proper course of action," MH assured him.  "As soon as I have some free time, I'll read over the testimonials you submitted."

Koopa rose.  "Thank you.  That really means a lot," he said cordially before making his exit.

**1.1.1**

Just before lunch, MH called Chad into his office.

"Hi.  You wanted to see me?" The Mii asked.

"Yes.  I'm trying to determine whether or not we need another update patch," MH explained.

"Huh.  I see."  Chad plunked himself down.  "If you'd come to me about this a few days ago, then I would've had a laundry list of what needs to be done away with.  Now—I'm not so sure."

"What makes you say that?"

"Let's just say I've had things put into perspective since then," said Chad.  "I've spent all of this time ranting and raving without actually doing anything, which brings me to my next point—the only thing I want changed in Smash is for people to stop saying 'fair and balanced'.  Because in all honesty, nothing is especially 'fair and balanced' in life, is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"I just want you to know—I take back everything I said about Luigi that day.  I was just frustrated that I lost, and instead of improving, I sulked around and felt sorry for myself.  I didn't even help him during that first Team Battle.  Recently, I've seen how much my actions hurt Luigi, and I want to make up for them."

"Good man," nodded MH.

"I don't think this tournament needs to be changed," Chad went on.  "It's our attitudes and the way we handle things that need to be changed."

"May I please give you a hug?  Because that's the wisest thing anyone's ever said to me in a long time," said MH.

"The lessons my family paid for contribute to my fighting style, and once I get back in the Training Area..." Chad spread his hands.  "All I'm saying is, in my opinion, nothing needs improvement or needs to be eliminated.  It's all..." He tapped the side of his head, and then his heart.  "That's where we need to change."  He nodded.  "I'll get off my soapbox now."

**1.1.1**

Dark Pit was next.

"Do I think we need a patch?  Absolutely!"

"Why do you think we need an update patch?" MH asked.

"Because we've grown all soft, and I don't like that," said Dark Pit.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, we've got people like Villager and Duck Hunt and everything's happy and fluffy and sugary with bright colors and rainbows, and it's so gross!"

"What else?"

Dark Pit huffed.  "Those combos."

"Whose combos?  Be specific, Dark Pit."

"Luigi's combos, all right?  I hate them!  I want you to get rid of them!"

"Why is that?"

"I practice with the crème de la crème, and for the life of me, I still can't get past them," said Dark Pit, in a calmer tone, "and that's saying something.  I even asked Lady Palutena for help, something I rarely do.  My strategy is very clean-cut, and I can escape everyone's combos—except Luigi's."

"I can't get rid of them entirely, but—if need be, I can tone them down."

"Please, do so.  I even start off with the upper hand against him, only for him to..."

"If he didn't have the combos, he wouldn't perform so well," said MH.

"They give him too big of an advantage!"

"So, you want me to give him too big of a disadvantage?"

Pittoo flushed.  "I never said that!"

"But you're thinking it."

"With all due respect, I didn't come in here to argue with you.  All I ask is for a nerf to make everyone's lives better.  It's that simple."

"To you it is.  But in order to get an update patch, I'll have to secure a meeting with the suits, and let them decide."

"It's always about them," grumbled Pittoo.  "All right, fine.  Can you at least do anything about the sugariness?"

MH smiled wryly.  "I'll wing something."

**1.1.1**

Soon, it was Falco's turn.

When the avian entered the office, MH took in his appearance.  "Falco, you look awful!  Is everything all right?"

Falco smiled and smoothed his feathers.  "Everything's fine," he said reassuringly, grateful that he'd made it without Mario pouncing on him.  "What's this about?"

"Just a few questions."

Falco casually settled himself into a chair.  "I've got nothing to hide.  Talk to me.  Ask me anything."

MH looked puzzled.  "Okay.  Is there anything in your playstyle that you think needs changing?"

"Not really.  Except maybe the part where I'm Fox's clone.  Maybe you can give me new special moves and a different Final Smash."

"How about for the tournament itself?"

"I'd like some new Star Fox stages.  Or updated graphics for the new stages.  Also, the lounges and the Training Area could use some remodeling."

"I'll take it into consideration.  Now, do you know any Smashers who you think need some tweaking?"

Falco looked down.  "Well—there's this one Smasher," he said softly.  "He used to be awful, but now he's really good.  But I fear he's too good."

"Why?"

"His—combos, Master Hand.  I know others have complained before me, but this is a serious situation."

"Falco..."

"Day after day, I sit in the stands and watch my close friends get clobbered by this guy.  Match after match, I'm mercilessly buffeted and outfoxed.  He reads me before I even try to counterattack.  Everyone else has scales over their eyes and can't see.  But I do.  And it's stressing me out."

"It's nothing to stress out over," said MH.

"Yes, it is, because we used to be friends," Falco blurted out.

"What...?"

"We were friends since Melee.  And not too long ago, well, we had words over his combos.  He took it personally.  I was only trying to help, and he treated me like the enemy.  What you gave him, MH, has gotten to his head."

"So—you're the other party," murmured MH.

"Excuse me?"

"I was told that Luigi got into an argument with someone over his combos..."

"I never mentioned a name, Master Hand."

"You didn't have to.  He's the target of these complaints."

Falco averted his gaze.

"What did you say to him that day, Falco?"

"I—I just told him the truth.  That his combos were becoming too much for us."

"Did you lash out at him over his fighting style?"

Falco sighed.  "Yes."

"So, you decided to take your frustrations out on him?"

"I'm not the bad guy, MH!" Falco said hotly.  "That plumber was pushing me and pushing me!"

"Regardless, that was the wrong way to handle the situation.  Luigi reacted as he had because he felt antagonized.  I think you owe him an apology."

"I _did_ apologize."

"Were you sincere?"

"Of course, I was.  And we agreed to put it behind us, but—it just hasn't been the same between us."  His eyes flashed.  "I didn't mean for it to come out like that, okay?  It's just—it's all his fault!  He's the one acting like some VIP with his combos; they're a crutch to him!  I just don't want him to rely so much on them, y'know?"

"I'll discuss this matter with Luigi when I get the chance," MH assured him, "but in the meantime, you need to change your attitude and stop being so defensive.  Next time such a matter occurs, you can always come to me, all right?"

"All right."

"Anything else you'd like to add?"

"I think, at this point, that nerfing Luigi must be done.  It'll not only save my friendship with him, but also save countless other friendships."

Falco rose.  "Good day, Master Hand," he said before leaving the office and swiftly walking back to his room.

**1.1.1**

"I think we've got him," Falco said to Manny that evening.

Manny nodded.  "Good.  Master Hand is the key to our plan.  Without him, we can't get the suits onto our side."

Falco smiled knowingly.  "I don't know, Manny.  If this falls through, there's another way."

Manny blinked.  "What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see," grinned Falco, "and so will the others."

    


 

 


	18. T Minus 14 Days

Master Hand continued his interviews first thing next morning.  So far, he’d gotten the same complaint about Luigi—that he was overpowered, it was close to getting to his head, and that a nerf would restore the tournament’s balance and save the green plumber from himself.  Their words nagged him, and he found himself wondering if it was true.  If so, he couldn’t afford the risk.  He needed to arrange a meeting with the suits as soon as possible.

              “He’s a humble man.  He’d never act like this over some combos,” he mused to himself, but he knew in his heart that it was his duty as master of ceremonies to respond to the concerns of his Smashers.  He was like a father to them.  And as Crazy Hand said, he was also an entertainer.  If people were unsatisfied with his work, then Nintendo’s sales would plummet, and he’d be the one to blame.

              MH floated over to his phone, picked it up and dialed a number.

              “Hello, I need to set up a meeting.  Yes, I’m Master Hand.  Well, recently, it’s come to my attention that one of my Smashers could be overpowered.  Both gamers and Smashers have brought these complaints before me.  I, uh, initially dismissed it as salt, but as these complaints intensified, I feel like they have some merit.  I need to meet with the suits as soon as possible.  Tell Sakurai to call me when he’s free.  Great.  Perfect.  Bye.”

              “Master Hand?  Sir?”

              MH looked up to see an auburn-haired woman wearing a strapless, sky blue minidress, blue eyes intently fixed on him.

              “Good morning, ma’am.  How can I help you?”

              The lady smiled.  “I’m Vanessa.  It’s really nice to meet you.”  She shook Master Hand’s pointer finger.  “Do you have any coffee?”

              “I have some tea.  Green or black?”

              “Green.  With sugar, please.”

              The glove headed over to his minibar to fix the tea.  “What brings you here, Vanessa?” he asked.

              “Well, it’s about one of your Smashers,” said Vanessa.

              “Why am I not surprised?”

              “Look, Master Hand, I didn’t come here as a salty gamer girl,” said Vanessa.  “I didn’t come here as a poor little rich girl frustrated that she can’t beat Luigi players.  I came here as a mother.  I came here as a wife.  I attended the match between the Mario Bros., along with Theo, my husband, and Ethan, my son.  After Mario lost, Ethan started acting out, bullying his sister and getting into fights at school.  He even yelled at Mario over it.  I made him apologize, but I don’t think he meant it.”  She sighed.  “We grounded him, but he defies us, sneaking out at night.  And—he was recently suspended from school.”

              “I remember your husband speaking to me over this matter.  You’re more—composed—than him.”  MH gave Vanessa her tea.  “If I may, Ethan needs to find an outlet besides video games.”

              “He loves shooting hoops in the backyard and Rollerblading.”

              “Then limit the time he spends playing video games and encourage him to go outside.  Go for walks.  Spend more time together as a family.”

              “We eat out every Friday.  We travel over the summer.”

              “How about family game night?  Playing board games?”

              Vanessa pursed her lips.  “We could start doing that again.  What I’m saying is, Ethan struggles against Luigi players, and he’s teased over it.  I try to help him improve, but he just gets frustrated and quits.”

              “Do you think Luigi needs to be nerfed, Vanessa?  Does Theo?”

              “I can’t speak for my husband, but I think a nerf is long overdue.  I’m tired of arguing with Ethan over it.  Nerfing Luigi is the only thing that can save my family.  It’s nothing personal—I like the guy, as does Theo.”

              “I like you, Vanessa.  At least you’re not a screaming mess like the others who’ve brought Luigi’s—talents—to my attention.”

              Vanessa smiled.  “Luigi _is_ talented.  He’s a very good fighter.  But he’s just a little _too_ good.  Just soften him up a little bit, and maybe Ethan can improve against him, and the teasing will stop.”

              She took a long drink from her tea.  “That suggestion box you have?  Is it helping?”

              “Right now, I’m interviewing the Smashers one on one.”

              “Are you petitioning for an update patch?”

              “I don’t petition.  I sit down with the suits to discuss it.  These interviews are to collect substantial evidence that we need an update patch—and screaming and cursing about Luigi isn’t substantial evidence.”

              “Maybe Theo and I can help.  We can provide testimonials.”

              “The best you can do is submit letters to me.  It has to be in the format of a business letter, perfect spelling and grammar, and the tone must be as professional as possible, understand?”

              “Yes, Master Hand.”

              “Writing is also bound to help Ethan deal with his frustrations,” added MH.

              “I hope so,” said Vanessa.  “Thank you for listening.”

              “I was more inclined to listen because you weren’t screaming in my face.”

              Vanessa chuckled.  “Hopefully, the suits will come through, or next time I won’t be so nice,” she said, half-jokingly.  She rose from her seat, taking her tea with her.  “Take care now.”

              Master Hand sat in contemplation, listening to the click of Vanessa’s heels as she exited his office.  Then, he glanced at his schedule.  Luigi was the next Smasher he had to interview.  Decent art dictated balance, so he couldn’t leave the man in green out of the loop.  He was interested in finding out how he felt about all of this.  Maybe he’d gain some more intel on what happened between Falco and Luigi.

**1.1.1**

              Vanessa strode briskly down the street, her dress billowing slightly in the breeze.  A smile was on her face, as if she’d made a huge accomplishment.  And maybe she had.  Her meeting with Master Hand had just guided Project Nerf through the turbulence it had experienced lately.

              The young woman reached a minivan and smoothly slid in through the driver’s side.

              Theo reclined in the passenger’s side, the radio on, turning it down when he saw his wife.  They shared a burning, passionate kiss before Theo asked, “What do you have for me?”

              “We’ve got him,” reported Vanessa.  “He’s interviewing his Smashers as we speak.  I don’t see a meeting with the suits very far on the horizon.”

              “Wonderful news,” gushed Theo.  “Wonderful!”

              “C’mon,” said Vanessa.  “Let’s go home.”

 

**1.1.1**

              Later that morning, MH was dozing at his desk, when he heard a knock on the door.

              “Enter,” he said.

              Luigi stepped into the office, wearing his lime-green and navy ensemble, eyes bright and surveying everything around him.

              “Hi, Luigi,” said MH.

              “Hi, MH.  You wanted to see me?”

              “Yes.  Please, have a seat.”

              Luigi plunked himself down, studying MH intently.

              “It’s come to my attention that maybe this tournament needs another update patch, so I’m interviewing my Smashers to see whether or not that’s the case,” explained MH.

              “I see,” said Luigi.

              “First of all, Luigi, what do you think of the tournament in general?  Does it need any improvements?”

              Luigi thought hard.  “Well, the only stage related to my game is my mansion,” he said.

              “So, you want more stages related to your adventures in the mansion?”

              “Indeed.  And bring back the Mario Bros. stage.  That was good fun.”

              MH took notes.  “Mario Bros. stage,” he murmured to himself.

              “And maybe some new—DLC—characters.”

              “The Ballot is still open, Luigi.  Millions of people are casting their votes.  I have faith she’ll get in.”

              Luigi smiled.

              “How about the stages we currently have?”

              “They need some renovation.  And it’s about time Super Mario Maker found its way here.”

              “That’s actually a good idea,” said MH.  “Now, how about the other fighters?  Do they need improvement?”

              “Definitely, and not in the way you think,” said Luigi.

              “What do you mean?”

              “Their fighting styles are fine.  They don’t need buffs or nerfs.  But they have a very nasty attitude toward me, and I’m sick and tired of dealing with it.”

              Luigi’s face began to flush and darken as he spoke, eyes flashing.

              “Yes—uh—that’s where these calls for an update patch are stemming from,” said MH.

              “I knew it,” Luigi said briskly.  “You’re not actually considering that, are you?”

              “No, of course not.  That’s for the suits to decide, not me.”

              “When the fourth tournament started, nobody was complaining about my down throw,” Luigi hotly went on.  “Then, just last month, boom!  They’re cursing me out on the battlefield or getting frustrated and salty and saying that I don’t deserve my combos!”

              “What do you think of your combos?”

              “My combos are fine.  It’s not like I let this get to my head.  I win and lose gracefully, I go into a match with a strategy—I don’t act like I’m on top of the world, if that’s what you’re saying.  It’s just—they have this mentality that because I’m Player Two—I’m not supposed to win over my opponents.”

              “Luigi—I’m sorry.”

              “Don’t be.  I’m a big boy; I know how to swim.”

              MH cleared his throat.  “I understand that an—incident—occurred between you and another Smasher.”

              Luigi blinked.  “Incident?”

              “There was a verbal altercation between you two over your combos.”

              Luigi clenched his fists.  “I thought he was my friend.”

              “Luigi, I just want to hear your side of the story.  What happened between you two?”

              “It was a match between me and Falco on Smashville.  He was starting to get frustrated, but I tried not to notice.  In short, I won that match.  Falco wasn’t happy.”

              “What did he say?”

              “He accused me of enjoying the way I combo my opponents and then told me not to rely so much on them, because ‘nothing lasts forever’.”

              “Are you overly-reliant on your combos?”

              “No, absolutely not.”

              “What else did he say?”

              “He—he lashed out at me, like it was my fault he lost!  Falco was my best friend, and now he was yelling at me over my combos!  He said that they weren’t a permanent fixture in Smash, and that I ‘wouldn’t be posing like some prima donna’ and winning like I had if ‘something’ happened to them!  And then—and then—he—told me that ‘a lot of Smashers are getting fed up with them, anyway’!”  Luigi couldn’t stop his sudden tears.  “How could he?!  I thought he cared about me!”

              MH was speechless.  “L…”

              “And you know what else?  He insulted my combo game!  He called them ‘those stupid f—ing combos’!”

              “Falco told me that he was only trying to help, and that you got hostile and defensive and treated him like a bad guy.”

              “Well, he f—ing lied!” snapped Luigi.  “He was acting like the bullying, salty, sore losers I’ve fun afoul of lately!  I felt hurt and betrayed, Master Hand!  If he’d been nicer about it, I wouldn’t have reacted like that!”

              “He apologized though.”

              “Yeah, he took me to a fancy restaurant and admitted he was wrong.  He told me he’d never act like that again.  But—it just didn’t feel the same, you know?  I’d catch him sitting far off to the side, acting like he was rooting for me, but his eyes—they told me otherwise.  A few days later, we sparred, and I thought I was ready to forgive him, but that night, I invited him to my room, where we ate ice cream and watched movies for a while, and then I asked him why he blew up at me.  I just wanted to know why!”  He took a few deep breaths, swiping at his eyes.  “But the only thing he told me was that he was sorry.  It felt so—forced and sugary.  So, I asked him to leave.  Since then, he’s made no effort to try and make our friendship work again, except buying me stuff, like it would solve anything.  Recently, he’s sat in on my matches, looking at me with nothing but disgust and disdain.  I’ve sought out friends and loved ones for advice, and they told me that maybe it’s time to let him go.  Because maybe Falco isn’t a true friend.”

              “Wow,” said MH.

              Luigi bowed his head and sobbed.

              “Why do you listen to these fulminations?”

              “I don’t know.  I thought it was amusing, I guess.  But all it’s doing is p—ing me off!”  He sobbed harder.  “Most of my life I’ve been thrown under the bus and treated like [ _bleep_ ] because I’m the second player, and now that one of my good friends turned on me—I don’t know if I can take anymore!”

              “Why didn’t you tell me?”

              “Because I didn’t want to look like a tattletale.  Plus, I’m not someone’s kid brother.  I can handle myself.”

              “It seems you’ve been holding this in for a long time.”

              Luigi nodded.

              “Next time, don’t hold it in.  If you need to cry, cry.  If you need to scream, scream.  If you need to throw something, throw something.  If you need to throw punches, throw punches.  Or come and talk to me.  Such salty behavior is unacceptable, and I can discipline the offenders accordingly.”

              “Yeah, just so they can do it again,” sniffed Luigi.

              “Right now, I don’t see anything wrong with your combos.  But if they’re causing gamers to stop playing…”

              “What?  It’s bad for business?  Am I a commodity to you?”

              “No!  I’m saying that if push comes to shove, I’ll have to compromise somehow.  Are you willing to do that?”

              Luigi nodded.  “Of course.”

              “Thank you, though, for bringing this to my attention.  I plan to launch an investigation into this matter.”

              Luigi smiled, his tears drying.  “I appreciate that, Master Hand.”

              He got up and left with a noticeable skip in his step.

**1.1.1**

              Falco pushed his shopping cart down the aisle of the commissary, replaying his interview with Master Hand.  As he absently shoveled items into his cart, he found himself wrestling with renewed feelings of guilt.  Yes, he’d hurt Luigi with the words he said.  Yes, he didn’t help matters when he couldn’t give a reason why he went on a diatribe.  But he’d told the truth that day.  If Luigi couldn’t handle it, then it was too bad.

              “I am not sorry,” he said to himself, defying MH’s order to apologize to Luigi.  He said it again, louder and more adamant.  “I am _not_ sorry!”

              Why should he be sorry?  Why should he apologize?  Apologize for doing Luigi a favor?  What was the sense in that?

              “He’ll see that I did him a f—ing favor!”

              Yet he remembered Luigi’s eyes after the words were spoken and his piercing gaze from the days afterward.  And there was truth in what MH said—the two of them were friends, had been for fourteen years.  It couldn’t end just because Falco threw a hissy-fit over losing.  And that night, when Luigi laid everything bare and told him of the pain he caused and then asked him why he threw that hissy-fit, when Falco could only cough up another apology, the man in green had sounded so frustrated…

              “Well, I’m sorry for telling him the honest-to-God truth!” barked Falco.  “I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done!  And as God is my witness, I’ll do it again!”

              The avian flounced over to the checkout and paid for his merchandise.  And as he stood, waiting for his stuff to be packed nicely into paper bags, _he saw him_.

              Mario was rooted nearby, blue eyes fixed unflinchingly on Falco.  He gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly that his knuckles were visible through his gloves.  His chest heaved—but there was no trace of hate or fury on his face, just a look of stomach-churning calm certain to set off alarms in those who valued their lives.  That was when Falco realized—he’d been present this whole time and had overheard _everything_.

              Falco swore he felt both his bladder and his bowels release.  He silently prayed for the Mii handling the bags to hurry up.

              “Do you need help carrying these, sir?” asked the Mii, handing the bags to him.

              “No, thank you,” replied Falco, hiking out of there fast and sneaking glances behind him at Mario.  But the man in red never moved from his spot.

              Falco sprinted to his room as fast as his legs could go, slamming and locking the door behind him.  He sank to the ground, breathing heavily.

              Once his heart rate was back to normal, Falco stood and put his merchandise away.  Then, he picked up the phone and called Vince.

**1.1.1**

              That night, when the conspirators assembled for their meeting, it was Falco’s turn to present, and boy did he deliver.  He’d prepared a slideshow showing numerous Smashers done in by Luigi’s seemingly limitless combos and interspersed short clips of previous matches in between.  In his voice was righteous fury as he put into words exactly what was on everyone’s mind.

              “Every single day, I find myself the victim of this!  _Every!  Single!  Day!_   And when I’m not, I’m sitting helplessly in the stands, watching a good friend of mine get totally wasted by this string bean plumber over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN!” Falco was on a roll, releasing the nervous energy left over from his near-miss in the commissary.  “And look at his face!  Look at how he _enjoys_ wreaking his destruction!  I finish up with bruises and aches all over my body from his fat little behind forcefully slamming me against the stage, karate chopping me to kingdom come and God knows what else!  I can barely fly because my wings are so messed up!  I get black eyes, broken noses and bloody beaks!  And I appreciate allowing me to speak to you tonight to tell you that I am really p—d off and that I’m getting sick and f—ing tired of putting up with his [ _bleep_ ] all the livelong f—ing day!”

              “What are you suggesting, Falco?” asked Shane, interested.

              “We all wanna do something about this, right?  Then I’m your man.”

              “Falco, we already have an operation in motion,” said Manny.  “It’s a foolproof plan, don’t you think?”

              “Then let’s make it better,” said Falco.  “.  You’re on the outside—I’m on the inside.  Surely, I can sway the great Master Hand to our cause by saying a few words to him.  Perhaps—if I made a few casual suggestions regarding the properties of Luigi’s down throw, in effect, getting rid of that competitive edge…”

              His audience began whispering among themselves.

              “Maybe—you can put us in touch with the suits themselves, and then with Mr. Sakurai, speed up the process a little bit.”

              “We can certainly make that happen,” nodded Vince, “but I assume you’re expecting something from our end.”

              “Uh-huh.  A hefty sum for services rendered.  And a guarantee of my full protection.  Do we have a deal?”

              “As long as you get the job done and things work out the way we want,” Vince said slyly.  He turned to his siblings.  “What do you think, boys?  Should we take Falco up on his offer?”

              “Yeah.  Yeah, sure,” replied Shane.

              Manny grinned broadly.  “Let’s do it.”

              “Then we have a deal,” said Vince, extending his hand to Falco.  “Welcome to the club, birdie.”

              The two shook hands, sealing their bargain.

              “Good thinking, Falco,” said Koopa.

              “Thanks,” said Falco, “but to make this happen, I need inside men of my own.  Can I count on you guys?”

              “Abso-f—ing-lutely,” said Marth.

              “That’s what I like to hear,” nodded Falco.

              Manny went to a cooler and extracted a few bottles of spirits and some cups.  “I say we drink to Falco’s brilliant plan,” he said.

              “Sounds good to me,” said Chase.

              Falco blushed.  “It’s always nice to be appreciated,” he said.  “I don’t know about you guys, but tonight I’m gonna have the best sleep I’ve had in days.”

              “Me, too,” said Koopa.

              “You know what?” Dark Pit piped up.  “So am I!”

 

 

                              



	19. T Minus 13 Days

Falco sat in his room, cell phone in wing, a list of phone numbers in front of him.  These phone numbers could get him in touch with the suits at Nintendo.  From there, he’d connect them to the Bennigan Brothers.  That was bound to accelerate things a little bit.

              He crossed over to the door and made sure it was locked and bolted, and then he did the same thing to the windows.  Satisfied with the inspection, the avian proceeded to dial the numbers on the piece of paper.  For each contact, he said the following:

              “Good morning, [person’s name], this is Falco.  Listen, I need you to call your pal(s) at Nintendo and tell them to connect with me as soon as possible.  Some folks and I are trying to get someone nerfed.  Yes, of course they’re overpowered; otherwise we wouldn’t be clamoring for an update patch.  Great, thanks.  See you soon.  Bye.”

              Each person Falco called then reached out to pals of their own, either by phone, video chat or social media.  It didn’t take long for word to spread, albeit quietly, that certain members of the Smash community were unhappy with a certain Smasher’s fighting style and that something was going to be done about it soon.  If it gained enough attentions, then the suits would have no choice to contact Falco, and then—fireworks.

              After Falco called the last person, he hung up, tore the paper to shreds and tossed it in the wastebasket.  Then, he slipped out of his room and down the hall.

              Crazy Hand spotted the avian headed his way and swiftly pulled him inside his office.

              “What are you doing?” he asked.

              “CH, I have a plan,” Falco explained excitedly.  “I know it sounds crazy, but it’ll work.  If we bring the higher-ups to the Bennigan Bros, they can engineer a meeting between them and your brother to discuss a new patch?”

              “Why not go directly to Sakurai?”

              Falco blinked.  “What?”

              “I know him personally.  We’re very good friends.  Just say the word, and I’ll hook you guys up!”

              “Wha—well, why didn’t you say so?”

              “There’s only so much I can do and say without being spotted,” explained Crazy Hand.

              “How soon can you make it happen?” asked Falco.

              “It could be tonight or tomorrow.”

              “Well, the sooner, the better.  I don’t know if I can stand another day of…”

              They both fell silent as footsteps passed them.

              “Listen to me, CH.  You need to be careful.”

              “I can handle my bro.”

              “I’m not talking about Master Hand.”

              CH raised an eyebrow.  “Mario?”

              Falco nodded.  “If he catches you plotting against Luigi, then he’ll pull you apart like warm bread.”

              “What is with you two?”

              “After what I said to Luigi that afternoon—I wish he’d just let it go.”

              “I agree.”  CH patted Falco on the back.  “This—conversation never happened, right?”

              Falco winked.  “You got it.”

              He opened the door, checked to see if the coast was clear, and then hightailed out of the office.

**1.1.1**

              “Are you all right?” was the first thing Master Hand said to Mario when the latter entered the office.

              “Yeah.  You wanted to see me?” asked the man in red, wiping his sweaty brow.

              “I just need to ask you a few things about your opinions on this tournament,” said MH.

              “My opinions?”

              “It won’t take very long.”

              “All right.  Ask away.”

              “What do you think of this tournament in general?  Does the format need to change?”

              “Now that you’ve asked, I think it kinda sucks that you discontinued Board the Platforms and Race to the Finish,” Mario said frankly.  “I also can’t believe you did away with Break the Targets.”

              “We upgraded Break the Targets to Target Blast.”

              “Launching a live bomb into a cluster of targets behind barriers?  That sounds more like a downgrade to me.”

              MH jotted down some more notes.  “Never would’ve thought that,” he mused.

              “And why don’t we have an Adventure Mode?  With the new characters, there’s possibility for an engaging story and nail-biting action.  Were our funds cut or something?”

              “I’ll see what I can do,” said MH.

              “I just—miss the good old days, when Smash was a party game and not über-competitive,” sighed Mario.  “I’d like to see more stages from the first tournament back, and maybe the option of playing our own music and not just the songs assigned to a stage.  You know what I’m saying?”

              “I think I see your point,” said MH.  “How about the mechanics?  Are they working well for you?”

              “I’m just happy I don’t randomly trip anymore,” shrugged Mario.

              “Anything you’d like to say about your playstyle?”

              “Other than a bigger sweet-spot for my f-air, I have no complaints.”

              “How about anyone else’s playstyle.”

              “I see where this is going,” Mario said suddenly.

              “What are you talking about?”

              “Are you really starting to believe that my bro needs a nerf?”

              “No.  I’m deciding whether or not we need another update patch.”

              “You weren’t talking about an update before everyone started screaming at you about Luigi.”  Mario’s eyes began to flash.

              “Mario, I know you want to protect him, but recently, the complaints have piled on, and once enough concern has been raised, I have to address it.  It’s my duty.”

              “Concern?  There’s nothing about Luigi to be concerned about.  A greater cause for concern is the saltiness we’ve witnessed lately.”

              “Yes, some of this is salt, but the other half could be legitimate,” explained MH.  “Our motto here is still ‘fair and balanced’.”

              “Well, a lot of people are using that motto as an excuse to antagonize my baby bro,” said Mario.  “They want the balance tipped in their favor, and that won’t be ‘fair and balanced’ for the rest of us.”

              “That’s what I’ve told them.”

              “We have Training Rooms, don’t we?  Why don’t they use them, like I do?  Maybe if they practice and spar, they’ll do better against Luigi.  But we don’t need an update patch which will yank his combos from him!”

              “I don’t think they mean that.  I think they just want the combos toned down a bit.”

              “Sure, they do.”

              “Mario—what’s this about?”

              Mario’s voice began to shake.  “I’m sick and tired of everyone dumping on Luigi, saying that he doesn’t deserve those combos, or calling him a loser or treating his victories with contempt!  Do you have any idea how many times I see him trying to fight tears, or looking so broken?  People who’ve claimed to be his friends have turned on him because—what?  If you lose, you lose.  What’s the big deal?”

              “I’ve had only one Smasher so far confront Luigi directly over this…”

              “Falco,” Mario broke in, breathing heavily.  “Luigi told me everything, a few days after it happened?  That bird lost, and how did he react?  He threw a big tantrum and took it out on Luigi!”

              “The incident has just come to my attention, Mario.”

              “And exactly what are you going to do about it?  Give Falco a tap on the wrist and call it even?”

              “I’m giving him a chance to apologize.”

              “And he’s not going to!  He said so himself!”

              MH paused.  “He told you that?”

              “No.  Yesterday, in the commissary…” Mario swiped at his eyes.  “I was taking care of my shopping list when I heard—shouting.  I recognized the voice at once.  It was Falco!  He was essentially saying that it was Luigi’s fault he lashed out, and that he was just telling the truth!  And then—and then he said—he wasn’t sorry—that he didn’t need to apologize—and that he’d do it again!”  He slumped against the chair.  “We locked eyes when he was at the checkout counter.  I looked at him, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t _move_.  And once he paid for everything, he grabbed everything and ran.  Ran—like a coward!”  He pounded a fist against the desk.  “This was after Falco took Luigi to a fancy restaurant, started buying him things and _swore_ he’d make it up!  Then, he started sulking in the stands during Luigi’s matches, rooting against him and avoiding me and Peach!  He has caused so much pain that I don’t think Luigi should try taking him back!”

              “Does Luigi know about this?”

              “I told him once I got my bearings.”

              “Mario, I am so sorry,” said MH.  “If I’d known sooner—I just don’t know what else to say.”

              “And I can’t believe they managed to sell you on this.”

              “They didn’t sell me on anything,” said MH.  “I just have a hunch.”

              Mario just shook his head.

              “M—don’t do anything stupid,” cautioned MH.

              “Like give these haters a piece of my mind?”

              “And do something you’ll regret.”

              “You have nothing to worry about, and neither do they.  I’m an even-tempered, forgiving man—usually.”  Mario got up.  “Will that be all, Master Hand?”

              “That will be all, Mario.”

              Wiping his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, Mario briskly walked out of the office.

**1.1.1**

              THUD!

              Luigi landed hard on the stage, surprisingly having enough wind in him to roll to a three-point crouch.  Quickly, he swept his legs around, knocking the feet out from under the opponent pursuing him.  Now, he was on his feet, waiting for his foe’s next move, using said foe and his thoughts to distract himself from the screaming pain.

              When Mario told him about what happened at the commissary, to say he was disbelieved would be a gross understatement.  He was still wrapping his mind around it.  Before now, he was still on the fence regarding what he should do regarding Falco.  Mario telling him to call it quits was just him being his protective self.  But after Falco had gone off on a mini-rant in that commissary about how not-sorry he was, there was not a single doubt in his mind that the avian had made his decision.  Guess it was time for Luigi to make his.

              It was all phony, the apologies and the gestures.  Luigi had seen right through it and stupidly decided to give Falco another chance.  He deserved having the rug pulled out from under him as it had because he was so darn gullible sometimes.  Why didn’t Falco just accept responsibility for his actions and admit he was wrong?  Why was he trying to blame Luigi, a man he called his “friend”?  Well, the man in green deserved better!

              And not only that, he said that he’d do it again!  What kind of friend said that?  Mario tended to overexaggerate things, but this was something he’d never overexaggerate, and Luigi believed him.  It was a worse betrayal than when he actually said those words two weeks ago.  His decision was made.  He was finished with Falco.  Finished.

              The opponent swung at Luigi, but he leaped out of the way, kicking them first in the side, and then in the jaw.  He went on the offensive then, punching them repeatedly in the face and body, topping it off with a sharp f-air to the nose before grabbing and down-throwing them into a fierce combo.

              Now fully engaged with the opponent, Luigi didn’t have time to think about Falco and his antics.  And he liked that.

**1.1.1**

              The waves rolled in and out of the shoreline as Theo, Vanessa, Ethan and Anna enjoyed an afternoon on the beach.  The parents were seated comfortably on blankets, watching their kids build a sandcastle.  Evidently, his suspension from school was a reality check for Ethan, who’d since focused his feelings inward and turned to artwork to express himself.  He was considerably nicer to Anna and planned to bake cookies for his class once his suspension was lifted.  Vanessa and Theo were relieved that the little crisis had been averted, yet were more determined to see Project Nerf through to the end to prevent another such crisis.

              “He’s doing a better, don’t you agree?” asked Vanessa as she studied her son.

              Theo nodded.  “If there’s one thing he likes better than video games, then it’s going to school and learning.  I sure hope he learns something from this.”

              “I know he did.  He understands that fighting and getting violent is unacceptable.”

              “Now it’s only a matter of time before those teasing him are punished,” said Theo.

              “I agree, but they want a reaction out of him.  The best way for him to handle the teasing is to ignore it.”

              “If he hasn’t tried already.”

              Vanessa was silent for a moment as she watched the waves crashing against the surf.  “What about him and Mario?” she asked suddenly.  “Will they ever be the same?”

              “That depends on whether or not Ethan tries to apologize again.  The first time, from what you told me, sounded forced.”

              “Even if it is sincere, do you think it’ll bring them back to the way they were?”

              Theo thought it over.  “No.  Not at all.  Ethan didn’t think before he acted like that, and he has to face the consequences.”

              “And the things you do and say—are very hard to undo and unsay,” added Vanessa.  “Like Falco.”

              “Falco?”

              “Did you hear?  Falco blew up at Luigi once because of those combos.  I get his pain, I really do, but now he’s got Mario on the warpath, and he’s lost Luigi’s respect.”

              “He should’ve come to the Bennigan Brothers beforehand,” Theo put in.

              More silence.

              “What should I wear when we finally meet the suits at Nintendo?” wondered Vanessa.

              Theo smiled.  “Something nice,” he replied, “like what you wore to Ethan’s school play.  Or the lovely ensemble you wore the night we got engaged.”

              “I have a feeling that we’re finally going to get things done,” mused Vanessa, pillowing her head on Theo’s shoulder, “and when that happens, we’re finally gonna see some normalcy.  I really want to bring this family closer together.”

              “I want that, too,” said Theo.

              Vanessa snuggled deeper against her husband and smiled.  “Hey, do you think the kids would like Santa Barbara?”

              “Santa Barbara?  Remember the last time we were there, the amazing three days that we shared…?”

              “Theo, not in front of the kids!” giggled Vanessa.

              “Mom, Dad!” called Ethan.  “Can Anna and I wade in the shallow area for a bit?”

              “Pretty please?” added Anna.

              “You’re not going in that water without us!” cautioned Vanessa, leaping to her feet and dashing toward her children, Theo close behind.

              It was just perfect, a family of four frolicking on the beach.  There were no down throw combos or school troubles to worry about.  And once the higher-ups blazed onto the scene, those combos would be no more, and they could enjoy more of these outings…

**1.1.1**

              Just before heading out to the night’s meeting, Falco Lombardi hit pay dirt.  One of his friends called him back, happily informing him that they’d secure a meeting between him and Sakurai sometime tomorrow.  The avian was on cloud nine as he glided his Arwing over to the meeting spot, which was Vanessa and Theo’s favorite restaurant.  He flashed his special identification card at the doorman and was shown to the private seating area, where everyone else waited.

              “You look in good spirits, Falco,” Manny said heartily.  “What’s the latest?”

              Falco grinned from ear to ear.  “I’m in.  Tomorrow, I set this machine into motion.”

 


	20. T Minus 12 Days

At 5:30 in the morning, Falco woke up, wiped the sleep from his eyes and jumped into a cool shower.  Once he was clean, he wrapped a towel around his waist, washed his face and shaved.  Then, he dressed in a crisp, new business suit and tie, placed the documents he needed into a briefcase, and applied a quick touch of cologne.  Quietly, he tiptoed past his still-asleep or stirring fellow Smashers, slipped on his coat and headed outside.  A limo was already waiting for him.

              “My bosses greatly anticipate your arrival, Mr. Lombardi,” said the driver, Mr. Anderson.  “They’re preparing breakfast for you as we speak.”

              Falco smiled.  “Thanks.  I anticipate finally meeting them in person.”

              He climbed into the limo, shutting the door after him.  80s and 90s music wafted from the loudspeakers placed throughout the vehicle.  “Would you mind turning that up for me, please?”

              Mr. Anderson obliged, and soon, they were off.

              It was a pleasant drive from the Smash Mansion to Nintendo HQ.  The window gave a lovely view of the sun creeping up over the eastern horizon, staining the sky a brilliant shade of red-orange.  Traffic was surprisingly light, and so the limo glided down the freeway, past clusters of houses and marketplaces before heading into open country for a bit.  Rolling hills, vineyards, nosy livestock.  Lulled by the scenery, Falco closed his eyes and dozed for a bit.

              He was awakened by a small bump.  Looking out through the windshield, he could see a city skyline.  They were almost there.

              Falco yawned, stretched and smoothed out his coat and the crown of feathers atop his head.  Then, he took out his phone and played with it to keep himself awake.

              The limo got off the freeway and maneuvered through a busy street before turning right and going down a fairly long stretch of road.  They continued up a hill until they reached what appeared to be a parking garage.

              “We’re here,” announced Mr. Anderson as he pulled into the valet parking area.  He got out, walked to Falco’s side and then opened his door.

              “Thanks for the ride,” said Falco, giving the driver a $10 tip.

              “Take the elevator down to the lobby.  Someone will be waiting to escort you to the meeting room,” smiled Mr. Anderson.

              Falco thanked him again before proceeding as instructed.

**1.1.1**

              When Falco stepped off the elevator, he was greeted by another valet.  This one was taller, more energetic, and had olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair.  His name was Jeff.

              “Wow,” he said when Falco approached.  “Falco Lombardi.  I’m a big fan.”

              “Nice to meet you,” said Falco, shaking Jeff’s hand.

              “We’re so glad you’re here,” Jeff went on.  “They’re waiting for you in our meeting room.  Come on.”

              Jeff led Falco down the hall and into a large, spacious room.  The avian smelled fresh coffee and all sorts of breakfast foods, causing his stomach to growl.

              A tall, formidable man with jet black hair rose and stepped toward Falco.  “Good morning, Mr. Lombardi,” he greeted.  “My name is Reggie.  I’m Mr. Sakurai’s right-hand man.”

              “Heard so much about you,” said Falco, extending a wing, which Reggie shook.

              Reggie then gestured toward his companions, all dressed their business best.  “I’d like to meet the people who make the magic happen,” he said before introducing them one-by-one.

              “This is Mr. Hutchinson, our art director, but you can call him Hutch.”  Hutch, a small but intellectual man, smiled at Falco and offered his hand.

              “Next to him is Mr. Fields, our advertising director.”  Mr. Fields was tall and thin, with a shy air about him.

              “Uh, h-hi,” said Mr. Fields.

              “Hi,” said Falco.

              “Here is Mr. Muñoz, our public relations director,” said Reggie.  “He also goes by Moon.”

              “That’s because I tend to work afterhours,” Moon said with a wink.

              “And over here is Ms. Mercer, our editing director.”

              “Please, call me Pat,” said Ms. Mercer, a woman in her thirties with dirty-blonde hair.

              “Next to her is Ms. Fitz-Simmons, our lead fight choreographer, but you can call her Gem or Gemma.”

              Gem was an athletic-looking woman with long, curly red hair.  “Good morning,” she said.

              “Over here is Ms. Olmstead.  She leads our Smash Division.”  Ms. Olmstead was in her late twenties and seven months pregnant.

              “Hi,” she said.  “Next to me is Ms. Carlyle.  She’ll take over for me when I go on maternity leave.”  Ms. Carlyle was middle-aged and sharply dressed.

              “Finally, we have Mr. Connors, head of Mr. Sakurai’s personal security.”  Mr. Connors was a heavyset yet sturdily built man.

              Falco nodded.  “Lovely to meet you all,” he said.

              “Mr. Sakurai will join us shortly,” said Reggie.  “Would you like to enjoy some breakfast while we wait?”

              Falco smiled.  “Don’t mind if I do.”

**1.1.1**

              The breakfast trays were nearly empty when Jeff stepped into the room.

              “Mr. Sakurai will receive you now,” he announced.

              Falco wanted to jump for joy, yet he maintained an air of professionalism and simply nodded.  “Let’s go.”

              He and the team filed out of the room and toward another set of double doors.  Jeff stopped them and frisked them for weapons.

              “Sorry,” he said, a bit sheepishly.  “Standard procedure.”

              The door opened, revealing two men in suits standing on either side.  Everyone stepped into the office, where they were greeted by the man himself, sitting at his desk, a mug shaped like his face in front of him.

              “Falco Lombardi,” said Mr. Sakurai, rising from his chair.  “Welcome to my secret lair.”

              “Thank you,” said Falco.

              The avian shook Sakurai’s hand and sat in the chair offered him.

              The tournament’s chief financier and Nintendo’s head honcho drained the contents of his mug and turned to another man in a suit.  “Something a little stronger, perhaps?” he requested.

              The man in the suit nodded and departed to attend to Sakurai’s wishes.

              “I do apologize for the delay,” said Sakurai.  “When you arrived, I was dealing with an urgent matter which suddenly came to my attention.  But I’m still glad we can finally meet in person.”

              The man in the suit returned with a large decanter of mimosa and several glasses.  Sakurai dismissed him with a smile and poured the mimosa into the glasses before handing them to the visitors.

              “I understand that you have a—request—to make of me,” he said finally.

              “More of a proposal to put to you,” said Falco.  “I’m afraid that the experiences of some of my fellow Smashers have hit stormy seas.”

              “What seems to be the issue?”

              “We have reason to believe that a fighter is grossly overpowered,” Falco explained.  “He has a lot of combos at his disposal, making him nigh undefeatable.”

              “Combos,” Sakurai repeated.

              “His down throw combos, to be exact,” said Falco.

              “Are you saying that he has too many combos?”

              “Not so much.  People fighting him do well until he gets them in a down throw, where most of the combos come from.  His ability to read their every move renders his opponents unable to escape.  That down throw has them at a serious disadvantage.”

              “So, the combos aren’t the problem—the down throw is.”

              “Yes.  It is frustrating, and Master Hand isn’t taking it seriously enough.  That’s where you come in.”

              Sakurai’s brown eyes lit up.  “Hmm.  That’s an odd coincidence.”

              “How come?”

              “Because that little green rat cost me a lot of money, and I’ve waited for a chance to settle the score since.”

              Falco blinked.  “I never mentioned a name, Mr. Sakurai.”

              “You didn’t have to.  I just know,” winked Sakurai.  “Besides, I should know the mechanics of the tournament I help finance.”

              “So—you also have a beef with Luigi?  What happened?” Falco asked curiously.

              “I’m gonna make him the most miserable plumber who ever lived, and I’ll tell you why,” Sakurai began.  “Luigi nearly ran this company into the ground with his 30th anniversary nonsense!  It was all Luigi this and Luigi that for a full year, and we performed poorly in the sales department!  For thirty-two years before then, we were giving consumers what they wanted—the chivalrous, faultless hero who always jumped at the challenge!  And let me be even more frank, just to show you that I’m not a hard-hearted man, that it’s not all dollars and cents!  Mario is iconic!  He’s young, he’s strong, he’s handsome—to a degree!  He’s the ideal everyman!  Back in the 90s, if you asked a kid who they wanted to be, they always said, ‘I wanna be like Mario!’  He’s someone who’d spring back up after being knocked down!  He’s so adored that even men want him!  And then Luigi comes along with his little sobstory over nobody knowing his name or crediting him with helping his big bro, and Nintendo kowtows to him and ropes me into it!  The Year of Luigi was a giant, costly spectacle!  That piece of green [ _bleep_ ] made me look ridiculous!  And a man in my position can’t afford to be made to look ridiculous!”

              Falco whistled.  “That’s deep.”

              Sakurai took a gulp of mimosa and calmed down.

              “All I’m saying is this.  You’re p—ed at Luigi, and so am I.”

              “Oh, Mr. Sakurai, for me and my fellow grievants, it’s nothing personal.  It’s just good business,” said Falco.

              “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

              “We thought MH would do something.  When he continued to treat this like a joke, we decided to take matters into our own hands—create Project Nerf.”

              “What is Project Nerf?”

              “Our top-secret plan to nerf Luigi, led by three brothers.  Just say the word, and I’ll take you to meet them.”

              “I’ve heard of the Bennigan Brothers.  We’ve done business in the past.”

              “Would you like to do business with them again?” asked Falco.

              Sakurai grinned.  “Think of this as a win-win situation.  With my help, Project Nerf will be a success, and we’ll take Luigi down a peg.  Serves him right.  Now, what do you need from me?”

              “You and the suits can sit down together and draft a new update patch.  I think we’ve successfully convinced MH to contact you.  My co-conspirators meet tonight, and we’d like you to come.  Crazy Hand will post the time and location on our private discussion forum.”

              “I assure you, Falco, you have our support,” said Sakurai as the suits nodded.  “We’ll be at your get-together tonight, ready and willing to hear what the men and women behind Project Nerf have to say.”

              “Great.  See you tonight,” beamed Falco.  He rose and shook Sakurai’s hand.  “Thank you.  We’ve labored for days for this.”

              “We have a common interest,” winked Sakurai.  “I look forward to doing business with you.”

              “And I, you.  Take care.”

              Falco practically skipped out of the office.

              Jeff met him at the parking garage.  “Here,” he said.  “Let me drive you back to the Smash Mansion.”

**1.1.1**

              It was a lively ride back.  Jeff had Y2K hits blasting on the sound system and was chatting Falco up like crazy.  Falco decided that he liked Jeff.

              “Why are you letting such a good friendship go?” Jeff asked suddenly.

              “Hm?”

              “Seems to me that Luigi was a good friend back in the day,” Jeff explained.

              “He was,” sighed Falco, “until those stupid combos came along.  Then I had to make a choice.”

              “You didn’t have to yell at him,” said Jeff.

              “I know,” murmured Falco.  “I was just frustrated, and…”

              Jeff shot the avian a pointed look.  “Wasn’t there a nicer way you would’ve put it?”

              “Well—I—er…” Falco couldn’t cough up an answer.  “What’s your point, Jeff?”

              “Maybe jumping into this was a rash decision, but that’s just my opinion.”

              “Jeff…”

              “Have you thought about apologizing to him?”

              “I _did_ apologize.  I took him to a fancy dinner, cheered him on when he was Smashing, bought him stuff, and I’ve kept my temper in check since.”

              “And now you’re participating in an effort to get him nerfed?”

              “To save our friendship, to prevent something like that from coming between us again!”

              Jeff blinked.  “Really?”

              “Yes, really, Jeff.  I can choose to support Luigi or Project Nerf.  Not both.”

              “Or are you supporting Luigi by supporting Project Nerf?” Jeff asked archly.

              “It’s for his own good,” stated Falco, his tone indicating that he was done discussing the subject.

              But Jeff wasn’t.  Focusing back on the road, he suddenly pressed down hard on the gas.

              “Whoa!” yelled Falco.

              Jeff’s eyes gleamed, a strange smile forming on his face.

              Falco gripped the edge of his seat.  “Jeff, what are you doing?!”

              The driver answered with more acceleration.

              “Aaaahh!  Jeeeefffff!”

              Jeff cut swiftly across lanes, gripping the wheel tightly, smiling like an adrenaline junkie.

              “Jeff, are you crazy?!  You’ll get us in trouble!”

              Jeff didn’t even acknowledge Falco, instead accelerating again.

              “Must go faster—must go faster,” he murmured under his breath.

              “What?!” Falco called to him.

              Irritated drivers honked at Jeff, who simply honked back as he whizzed by them.

              “Look out!” screamed Falco.

              “Hold on,” Jeff said calmly.

              He gunned the engine.  The limo leaped into the air and soared over a good stretch of crowded freeway before landing smoothly on the other side of the traffic jam.

              “That’s amazing!” cried Falco, catching his breath.  “How did you do that?”

              “Just practicing,” replied Jeff.

              The rest of the ride was exceptionally livelier as Jeff pulled all sorts of cool stunts out of his pocket without a moment’s notice.  By the time they reached their destination, Jeff felt better.

              “See you round,” smiled Jeff as Falco climbed out of the limo.

              The avian watched as Jeff pulled out of the valet area and hit the open road.

**1.1.1**

              That night, the conspirators of Project Nerf assembled at Red Robin for their meeting.  Once everyone was served their baskets of Bottomless Fries, Falco rose to speak.

              “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said.  “Now’s the time for only those who believe to remain.”  He grinned.  “We have a special guest tonight.”

              The door opened, and in strode Sakurai and his team, flanked by bodyguards.

              Stunned silence filled the restaurant.

              “Hello,” said Sakurai.  “I’d like to see the Bennigan Brothers, please.”

              “H-here we are, Mr. S,” said Vincent when he regained his voice.

              “Nice to see you again,” said Manny.  He turned to Falco.  “You actually did it.  We’re very proud of you.” He gave the avian an affectionate squeeze.

              “Why didn’t you tell me you had dealings in the past?” whispered Falco.

              “That was privileged information,” winked Manny.

              “Thank you for coming.  Please, have a seat,” said Vince.

              Everyone else gawked.  They couldn’t believe they were finally speaking to Mr. Sakurai.

              “I see Dark Pit is here,” said Sakurai, “and Mewtwo, Roy, Kyle, Chase, Rolf, Steve, Stevie, Marth.  You’ve got your own organization going.  Nice job.”

              “Thank you,” Marth said with a blush.

              “And here are the other members of Project Nerf,” said Vince. “Marion, Michele, Anna, Ethan, Theo, Vanessa…” He continued rattling off the names.

              “It’s lovely to meet you all,” said Sakurai.  “When Falco brought your endeavors to my attention, I just had to lend my support.  Why, you ask?  Well, I’m about to tell you what I told Falco earlier.  I have a bone to pick with Luigi.  His insistence to dedicate an entire year to him proved harmful to the company.  We’re still struggling to pull ourselves up from that nosedive.  And there’s another reason—he shows up at my office on any given day, giving this impassioned speech about how Smash would be complete if I invited his girlfriend!”

              “Daisy,” realized Marth.

              “What purpose would she serve?” Kyle wanted to know.  “Besides fanservice?”

              Rumbles of agreement.

              “And when he’s not lobbying me in person, he’s blowing up my phone, along with Reggie’s, thinking he can negotiate Daisy into the tournaments!  Well, I’ve made my decision already!  His precious Princess never gets into Smash!  I don’t care how many of her friends and allies come crawling out of the woodwork!”

              “Why don’t you just tell him that?” asked Rolf.

              “The Smash Ballot closes this December,” Sakurai explained.  “I want to make him think that I’ll consider letting Daisy join Smash, and then, once the votes are all counted, I’ll throw this right in his face!  He’ll never see it coming!”  He chortled gleefully, and soon everyone joined in.

              “So, you’ll really help us?” Ethan piped up.  He was wearing a pressed suit and bow tie, hair elegantly slicked back.

              “You got that right, kiddo.  I’ll have that nerf on paper in no time.  But in order to do that, you need to further convince Master Hand to meet with me.”

              “Fear not,” said Crazy Hand.  “My bro’s beginning to crack.  He left a few messages.”

              “I also noticed that you have a website,” said Sakurai.  “Could you help me out a little bit and post some replays of Luigi’s matches on your webpage, so I can look?”

              “Leave it to me,” said Falco.

              “Once I get the green light from Master Hand, my team and I will start drafting the new update patch,” Sakurai went on.  “By night, we’ll take it to you guys for proofreading.”

              “Excellent,” said Manny.

              “In the meantime, though, how about you draw up some petitions?  Nothing will grab that glove’s attention better than a petition or two.”

              Looks were exchanged among the conspirators.

              “Tell you what, Mr. S,” said Shane.  “We’ll scratch your back if you scratch ours.  Help us get that down throw nerfed, and we’ll see to it that Daisy never sees the Smash Mansion in her lifetime.”

              Sakurai beamed.  “I like you,” he said.  “We have a deal.”

              He shook hands with all three Bennigan Brothers.

              “Tomorrow, we’ll start intensifying our efforts to bring you and MH together for a proper meeting,” said Vincent.

              “We’ll return his calls to set up a target meeting date,” said Sakurai.  “But…”

              “But what?” asked Manny.

              “There is one thing I might need,” said Sakurai.

              “We’ll be happy to get it for you,” Vince assured him, “but what is it?”

              Sakurai leaned closer toward the Bennigan Brothers and began to whisper…

             

 


	21. T Minus 11 Days

Vanessa stirred as her radio alarm clock blared to life, pushing her hair out of her face, reaching over and turning the alarm off.  Then, rather than trying for ten extra minutes of sleep, she slid out of bed, ran a pick through her disheveled auburn locks and fastened them into a simple ponytail.  She dressed in a nude sports bra and leggings, slid her feet into a pair of athletic shoes and walked into the makeshift exercise studio she shared with Theo to begin her daily workout regimen.  Fifteen minutes of stretching and calisthenics.  Five or six sets of upside-down crunches on the pull-up bar.  Fifteen more minutes of weight-lifting exercises.  Thirty minutes each on the treadmill and arc trainer.  Forty-five minutes on the spin-bike.  Finally, fifteen minutes of cool-down stretching.  By the time she was finished, her body was plastered with sweat, and she was breathless.  But she was powered-up for the day’s events.  After downing a bottle of Gatorade, she peeled off her sweaty clothes and jumped into a cool shower.

              Once she was nice and clean, Vanessa threw on a robe and sat before her dressing table, scrutinizing her face in the mirror.  The onset of age was approaching, and that was no good.  Vanessa made a face, and then began applying her makeup.  First was the foundation, a small dot to the five points of the face, forehead, left cheek, right cheek, chin, nose, any excess going on the neck.  She massaged in the foundation using gentle circular motion.  Next on was her favorite powder, blending it backward into the foundation.  A concealing stick took care of the pesky little wrinkles (thank goodness they were laugh lines, but still).  Then, came the bronzer to the “fish-areas” of the face, followed by the blush to the apples of the cheeks, before blending it all together.  She tweezed her eyebrows before brushing and combing them, and then curled her eyelashes.

              Now, it was time for the eyes.  She started with the base and bronzer for the eyelids, and then perused over her eyeshadow kit for the day’s perfect combination.  The peach color won her favor, with a slightly darker shade on her lower lid to bring layers to the shadowing when it was blended together.  After adding a touch of glitter, Vanessa carefully applied several coats of mascara to her upper and lower lashes, smiling as she saw her eyes pop.  After smearing Vaseline onto her lips to moisturize them, she completed her look with carnation pink lipstick and lip gloss.

              Good.  The tough part was over.  Vanessa tended to her hair with hair cream and hairspray before combing it out.  Then, she slid into a pink chiffon dress chosen specially for this occasion, clasped on a pink Smash Ball necklace, slipped on a pair of stylish yet comfortable wedge sandals and clipped a sterling silver watch onto her non-dominant wrist.  She packed some lipstick, lip gloss, eye shadow and a few brushes into her makeup bag, placed the small bag into her purse, slung the purse onto her shoulder, grabbed her car keys and was out the door.

              The drive to the Smash Mansion was pleasant, scenic and congestion-free, and Vanessa arrived in record time.  She pulled into the lot, casually flipped her keys to a valet and passed through a metal detector.  Once she was out of earshot, she extracted an earpiece and clipped it on.  “I’m in,” she said coolly.

              “Well done, Vanessa,” said Manny’s voice.  “I knew I could count on you.”

              The click of Vanessa’s wedge heels rapped a steady beat against the floor as she strode along with total confidence.  Nearby Miis couldn’t help but turn their heads and stare.  Here was this stunning woman nobody had ever seen before, walking the halls of the Smash Mansion, looking and acting like she belonged there!  Vanessa, however, paid them no mind, focused entirely on the mission she’d volunteered for, after talking it over with her husband, son and daughter, of course.

              She paused at a kiosk displaying the day’s matches and scrolled down the list, smiling when she arrived at the match she was looking for.  Then, she proceeded to the ticket booth to purchase a ticket for that match.

              “Okay,” she reported back to Manny over the earpiece.  “I just snagged a ticket.”

              “Great.  Arrive there an hour in advance.”

              “Will do.”

              Luckily, she didn’t have long to wait.  She lounged in the Main Lobby, updating Theo and the kids on the situation, until she heard Master Hand announce that the match was coming up and that the spectators could now enter the arena to take their seats.

              Smiling, Vanessa walked briskly over to the arena, showed her ticket to the security guard, and headed over to the side opposite of Mario’s usual spot.  She made herself comfortable in the middle seat of the first row and once again dialed up Manny.

              “Are you in your seat?”

              “I am.  It’s still relatively empty.”

              “Excellent job so far, Vanessa.  You can relax for now, but be on the lookout for further instructions.”

              “Good idea.”  Vanessa marked her seat with a slip of paper and scurried off to the concession stand to get some food.

              By the time she returned to her spot, the arena really began to fill.  She fished a pair of binoculars out of her purse and studied the activity on the opposite end.  It was quickly becoming populated with Luigi fans, some shirtless and painted green from the waist up, others dressed up like him, and more sporting Luigi-related clothing and merchandise.  She spotted a crowd of Toads scrambling excitedly for a prime seat.  Then, she set aside her binoculars and began eating her meal.

              She’d started in on her dessert when her earpiece vibrated.

              “Yeah?”

              “How’s it coming?”

              “Luigi’s fans are here in full force.  I’m seated opposite from them.  Activity’s still quite slow where I’m at.”

              “You have your binoculars?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Take a look at the opposite entrance again.”

              Vanessa took her binoculars and obliged.  This time, she spotted a familiar mop of blue hair.  It was Marth!

              The bluenette glanced up, met her binoculars and nodded to her.

              “Where are the others?” she asked.

              “Getting their clipboards set up.”

              “Keep me posted.”  Vanessa disconnected the call and continued eating her dessert.

              After she’d eaten her food, she quickly disposed of her trash, and then sat back to watch the activity on the other side of the arena.

              Footfalls arrested her attention, and she turned to see people filing into her end of the arena.  A huge smile broke out on her face; this was exactly what she’d waited for.  Moving back to the railing, Vanessa located Marth and gave him a signal.

              Marth grinned, then put two fingers into his mouth and gave two short whistles.  Vanessa watched as the bluenette was joined by men and women armed with clipboards and pencils.  They huddled together for a few moments before stacking their hands, sounding a rallying cry and then scattering in different directions.

              Vanessa settled back into her seat.  Her work was done—for now.

              As several of the people with clipboards materialized in Vanessa’s section of the arena, the stage lights came on.  She heard Luigi’s fans go wild.  The opponent was the first to step out.  It was Steve, once again clad in a wrestling singlet.  Instantly, Vanessa leaped to her feet and cheered, and a few of her seatmates followed suit.

              Then, she noticed more people arriving, bearing motivational signs and banners for Steve.  Vanessa threw back her head and laughed.  The men and women behind Project Nerf had struck gold!

              She swiveled back as Luigi entered the stage, flashing his trademark “V” sign and a broad smile.  Luigi’s fans went up cheering in droves.  Vanessa squinted slightly, recognizing the dot of pink across from her as Peach.  If she had time, maybe she could get the Mushroom Princess’s autograph.  And perhaps a picture with her, as well.

              The men and women with clipboards fanned out and took their seats, one in each row.  Marth slipped into his spot, took Roy’s hand and kissed his fingers.  Falco settled himself in the seat beside Vanessa.  Being a stage’s length away from Mario was a good thing.

              Master Hand started the match.

              Vanessa dialed up Manny once again.  “They’re in position,” she reported.

              “Good going!” said Manny.  “Now, give Steve your full attention and support.  He’s gonna need it.”

              “You got it,” said Vanessa, and hung up.

              Manny was right.  Steve needed as much encouragement as he could get.  He’d gotten in some practice since his disastrous Team Battle and fought with a distinctive brawler style.  Most of his blows were focused on the body rather than the face, and he tried to grapple with Luigi, too.  But his body blows and grapples still stood no chance against that down throw, and all it took was one lucky kick to get him in a grab.  Steve tried to break free, but Luigi held fast.  He then heaved his foe downward as hard as he could and started up a punishing, bruising combo as his fans cheered.

              Around her, Vanessa’s seatmates sighed and grumbled in disbelief as Steve’s advantage was lost to the wind.

              “C’mon, Steve,” Falco whispered.

              Steve escaped with a no-look kick which sent Luigi flying.  He landed hard, but recovered quickly.  He ducked a hammy fist to the head, blocked another, and then punched Steve twice in the nose, twice under the chin and several times in the abdomen before launching a spearhand strike at the waist.  Steve doubled over with a roar of pain, and Luigi wasted no time serving up his signature fiery uppercut, taking his opponent’s first stock.

              Vanessa’s side seethed.  Luigi’s fans cheered.

              “Hey, Vanessa…” said Falco.

              “Not yet,” she replied.  “Almost…”

              Steve respawned, glaring balefully at Luigi.  The plumber calmly stared back, ready for more.  Growling, Steve barreled at Luigi, but he simply dodged the rush and busted out some kickboxing moves and sweep attacks, throwing a few fireballs here and there.  Nostrils flaring, Steve recovered and charged again, running directly into Luigi’s flare kick, sending him tumbling.  Luigi quickly grabbed him by the legs, swung him around a few times, and then let go, flinging him high in the air.  Steve managed to get back to the platform, but Luigi was ready for him.  He tricked Steve into shielding before grabbing and butt-slamming him again.

              Everyone on Vanessa’s side was raging and fulminating, or shouting directions at Steve.  Vanessa herself sat primly, calmly.  Watching.  Waiting.

              On the other side of the arena, Peach was drinking in the action when her eye fell on the auburn-haired woman seated across from her.  She recognized her at once as the woman cheering on Mario when he fought Luigi.  She also remembered that her son had thrown a hissy-fit after Mario lost.  But she was the type of woman who’d let bygones be bygones.  Peach hoped to meet up with that woman sometime.

              Vanessa felt like she was being watched and raised her head, spying Peach.  She smiled coyly at the blond Princess, who smiled sweetly and winked in return.  Vanessa blushed.  She’d never been so up close and personal with Peach before.

              An oath brought her back to the present.  Steve was now clinging to the ledge as Luigi stood over him, smiling innocently.  The former struggled to pull himself up, but alas, he wasn’t fast enough and was met with a shy dirt kick, spiking him downward.  Another stock lost.

              People snatched at their hair and shook their fists at the sky.  When was this going to end?

              Analyzing the uproar around her, Vanessa turned and nodded to Falco.  “Now,” she commanded.

              The two of them gave a signal to the people with clipboards.  In unison, they rose from their seats and began to weave through the sea of spectators, sporting courteous smiles.  “Hello!  Would you be interested in signing this petition…?”

              Vanessa called Manny.  “Okay.  The petition is circling now.”

              “Right on schedule.  How’s Steve doing?”

              “It doesn’t look good.  He’s already lost two stocks, and Luigi hasn’t lost one!”

              “Hang in there.”

              “I’ll keep you posted.”

              Vanessa smiled to herself as the copies of the petition floated from spectator to spectator.

              “Hey,” said Falco.

              “Yeah?”

              “I noticed how you were looking at Peach.”

              Vanessa smiled shyly.  “Yeah, uh—I’ve admired her since I was a kid.”

              “You wanna meet her?”

              “Sure.  I’ll introduce myself.”

              “Just be cautious.  If she finds out you had a hand in nerfing one of her heroes, she won’t think so highly of you.”

              Vanessa wore a wistful expression.  “I know,” she mused softly.

**1.1.1**

              Steve fought well, even better than that Team Battle, but unfortunately, he still lost.  Vanessa set her lips determinedly and slipped out of the arena.  It was time for Phase 2 of her plan.

              Once back in the Smash Mansion’s lobby, Steve barreled past her, headed for Master Hand’s office.  Vanessa just let him go without a word, knowing he needed to let off steam.  She plunked herself onto a chair and called Manny.

              “How’d it go?”

              “Luigi won, but what else is new?”

              “No sense in moping over it.  You know what to do next?”

              “Uh-huh.”

              “Theo, Ethan and I will be waiting for you outside.  Good luck.”

              “Thanks, Manny.”

              Vanessa stood and stretched before starting down the corridor.

              When she turned the corner, she saw him.

              Luigi, kneeling in his usual place just outside Master Hand’s office, head slightly bowed.  Steve’s angry voice came faintly from within.  Studying him, Vanessa felt a slight pang of sympathy.  She wondered if he always lingered here after his matches, listening as his opponents pleaded their case to Master Hand.  His breathing sounded heavy and pained, and she could swear she saw his shoulders jiggling.  Was he crying?  Trying to remain inconspicuous, Vanessa was tempted to go over, put her arm around him and make everything all right.  Just like she’d take Ethan in her arms to comfort him after a bad day…

              _Stop it.  This is for his own good_ , she reminded herself.  Still, the Bennigan Brothers had a point.  Throwing temper tantrums wouldn’t solve this problem.  Someday, Luigi would see.  His life would be less complicated without those combos.  He would see.  They’d all see.

              “Were you listening to that?”

              Vanessa gasped and stared wide-eyed at Luigi.  He was actually addressing her!  The target of the scheme she was part of was looking her in the eyes and talking to her!

              “I—no,” she said after she got over her shock.  “I heard it while waiting to talk to him.”

              “Well, I guess it’s a common sound these days,” said Luigi.

              “Everybody shouts a little sometimes,” Vanessa said consolingly.

              “Almost all of my opponents do this,” said Luigi, “and I’m sick and tired of it.”

              “You don’t have to listen to them,” whispered Vanessa.

              “It’s hard not to.  You can hear them for miles,” shrugged Luigi.

              Vanessa cringed slightly.  “Boy.”

              “Yeah.  So why try avoiding it?”  Luigi took a deep breath.  “Gotta run.  My next match is coming up.”

              Vanessa was shocked.  “So soon?”

              “Don’t worry.  I have a lot of energy left.”  Luigi winked and started to leave.

              “Hey,” said Vanessa, touching him lightly on the shoulder.  “Chin up, okay?”

              “Okay.”  Luigi smiled at her and strode down the corridor.

              “This nerf will help you,” Vanessa murmured.  “If you don’t have the combos, there’s nothing for your opponents to have conniptions over, is there?  Can’t you see?  It’ll all work out well in the end.”

              She saw Crazy Hand materialize and then enter Master Hand’s office.  The shouting stopped, and Crazy spoke quietly to Master.  Master said something back, and then the door opened, the two Hands floating out in a single file line.  Steve popped his head out, still red-faced, and beckoned to Vanessa, who broke cover and darted into the office.

              “You know what to do next?” asked Steve.

              “I do.”

              “Great.  I’ll keep watch for you.  But be warned—Crazy can’t keep Master distracted for long.”

              Vanessa nodded and sat at Master Hand’s big computer.  She reached into her purse and removed a device which resembled a flash drive, but which would actually help her access the tournament mainframe.  Nimbly, she inserted the device into the USB port.

              Numbers and code scrolled across the computer screen as the device worked its magic.  Vanessa was taken to a menu screen with several folders displayed on it.  She clicked the “Replays” folder and perused through the videos, selecting those which featured Luigi, his down throw, and his combos.  After selecting the desired replays, she right-clicked and then selected the “Copy” prompt.  A dialog box popped up, and she clicked the “Copy Selected” command.  The replays then began downloading into the flash drive-like device.

              While that was happening, Vanessa’s dexterous fingers moved across Master Hand’s desks, cabinets and bookshelves, searching for valuable nuggets.  It was like looking for lost treasure or pulling off a brilliant heist.  She flipped through thick manila folders as Steve watched the halls and the computer spilled its secrets onto her handy contraption.  When she happened upon a folder she wanted, she pulled it out and replaced it with a copy of that folder before placing the original folder into a briefcase.

              “There isn’t much time,” warned Steve.

              “Almost done,” said Vanessa.

              She checked on her device’s progress.  95%.  Then came across several dossiers of photos.  She used her phone to scan the ones she needed.  Finally, she snapped the briefcase closed and saw that her device was finished copying.

              “All right.  We’re good,” she reported, exiting out of the mainframe and plucking out the device.  “Let’s go.”  She passed the briefcase to Steve.

              Vanessa led Steve through the hallways of the Smash Mansion.  Faint cheering sounded around them, as another Smash battle was in progress.

              “Just so you’ll know, I have some more matches coming up,” Steve said to Vanessa, “so once we’re outside, you’re on your own.”

              “I can handle that,” Vanessa said perkily.

              “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

              “There’s a pre-arranged meeting spot set up.”

              Just then, a Mii security guard spotted them.  “Hey!” he called, striding towards the duo.  “You can’t be here!”

              Just as he reached them, Vanessa kicked the guard in a certain area with all her strength, causing him to double over and collapse.  “Come on!” she cried, taking Steve by the hand and sprinting off.

              The downed guard grabbed his walkie-talkie and radioed for backup.  Soon, able-bodied Miis charged onto the scene in pursuit of Steve and his companion.  The former whirled and brained the guard catching up to him with the briefcase, knocking him sprawling, before turning the briefcase into a melee weapon against the other guards.  Vanessa, to her credit, could really throw a punch and bravely fought her way through, swinging her purse like a flail and catching guards left and right in the face and gut.  When they started to slow her down significantly, she pulled off her heels, wielding them like two swords.

              In the midst of the fray, Vanessa noticed the exit about to be locked down.  Thinking fast, she grabbed Steve and rolled them both clear.

              “Are you all right?” she asked.

              “Yeah,” panted Steve.  He picked up the briefcase and handed it to her.  “Go.  Go!”

              Vanessa didn’t waste any time with parting words.  Leaving her shoes behind, she ran, barefoot, across the sun-warmed pavement, briefcase clutched tightly in both hands.  She ran through municipal areas, neighborhoods and busy city streets, her wavy hair bouncy lightly, her dress billowing and flapping behind her.  In this very moment, she’d never felt so alive.  Probably facing a lot of penalties, yet she was running like a maniac, laughing the whole way.

              Bounding into a grassy field was a relief to her toes and the soles of her feet.  Her eyes lit up when she recognized a limo at the end of the field.  As she ran closer, she made out the figures of Manny, Jeff, Theo and her children.

              She burst out of the field and held out the briefcase to Manny.  “Got it!” she reported triumphantly.

              Beaming, Manny took the briefcase and put it inside the vehicle.  “Record timing, Vanessa,” he said.

              “Mom!” Ethan and Anna shouted, running into Vanessa’s arms.

              “That was so cool!” shouted Ethan.

              “Totally!” Anna put in.

              After Vanessa helped the kids into the limo, Theo went over and kissed her.  “Thank God you’re all right,” he said.  “Now we gotta get that briefcase to Mr. Sakurai before we’re spotted!”

              “Let’s roll,” agreed Vanessa.

              They jumped inside the vehicle, and Jeff put the engine in gear and peeled out.

**1.1.1**

              Later that night, Vince and Shane sat in Sakurai’s manor along with the other conspirators as their host graciously served them drinks and dinner.  However, the two Bennigan Bros glanced nervously at their watches.

              “Where are they?” asked Shane.

              “Manny just called,” Sakurai assured him.  “They’re on their way.”

              “And did they find what you were looking for?”

              Sakurai nodded.

              A minute or so later, Manny walked in, followed by Vanessa and her family, to a generous standing ovation.

              “You actually pulled it off,” Falco said admiringly.

              “Surprised?” teased Vanessa before giving the briefcase and the flash drive-looking device to Sakurai.  “It’s all there.”

              Sakurai opened the briefcase and took out the files.  They contained everything the conspirators and the suits needed to know about Luigi, his fighting style and especially his down throw.  That way, they’d knew where and how to attack.

              “The device I gave you contains replays taken directly from the mainframe,” said Vanessa.  “I also scanned some photos, in case you need them.”

              Sakurai flipped through the documents, plugged in the device, and grinned when he saw the media.  “You’re a superstar, Vanessa.”

              “There was a little trouble along the way, though,” said Vanessa, “but at least I had some help.”  She cast a glance toward Steve, giving him a grateful smile.

              “Teamwork at its finest,” nodded Manny.  “My brothers and I are proud of you both.”

              “I deposited the money in your children’s college fund,” Sakurai said to Vanessa.  “Thank you for your invaluable assistance.”

              “It was a pleasure doing business with you, and also an adventure,” replied Vanessa.  “You have my number.  Call me anytime.”

              “Tomorrow, we’ll start setting up a meeting with Master Hand,” announced Sakurai.

              Vince rubbed his hands together.  “Excellent,” he chortled.  “There’s no stopping us now!”

               

 


	22. T Minus 10 Days

Morning came over the Smash World, and at long last, it was time for Sakurai and Co. to take that major step.  After a hearty breakfast, the Smash financier placed the fateful phone call to Master Hand.

              “Hello?” said MH when he answered.

              “Hey, Master Hand.”

              “Mr. Sakurai!” the glove sounded surprised.  “Thank you for calling me back.”

              “Sorry it took so long,” said Sakurai.  “We were swamped with work.  The person you spoke with told me that you were having—problems—with one of the Smashers?”

              “A lot of people are complaining about him.  They’re saying he’s overpowered.  And it’s not just gamers—other Smashers are coming down hard on this person.  At first, I thought they were just being salty, but I have this feeling, you know?”

              “Indeed, and I have a hunch who you’re talking about.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah.  I’ve had petitions sent my way in recent weeks.”

              “So—you know it’s Luigi?”

              “Who else has a good down throw combo game?”

              “Well—Ness, and…”  MH cleared his throat.  “Historically, Luigi has been targeted with hateful comments.  People seem to have issue with him winning anything for—obvious reasons.  But I’m getting the impression that this is more than that.  And now that you’re telling me you’ve gotten petitioned…”

              “We treat the possibility of overpowered fighters very seriously here,” said Sakurai, “and I’d be happy to meet with you to address the matter.”

              “That’s also what I wanted to speak to you about,” said MH.  “There have been calls for a new update patch.”

              “Really?”

              “And the only way I can do that is through you.”

              “That is correct.  All the better reason to meet face-to-face.  Are you available tomorrow?”

              “Of course.  I’ll simply hand the reigns to Crazy Hand for the day.”

“Our driver will pick you up at 9:30 tomorrow morning.  Bring whatever paperwork you think is necessary.  Also, pack a small suitcase; you may need to stay with us overnight.  For that purpose, we booked you a room at the Hilton.  It’s a presidential suite.”

“Thank you for your kindness.  I’ll make the announcement to my Smashers later today.”

“Just—don’t tell them why, okay?  The reason for your absence tomorrow is strictly on a need-to-know basis.”

“Very well.  Thank you for returning my call.  I can’t wait to finally straighten this mess out.”

“Me, neither, Master Hand.  See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”  On those words, MH hung up.

Little did he know that Marth had lurked outside the office, listening and hanging onto every word.  After he heard Master Hand hang up, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Vince’s number.

“Yeah, what is it?” asked Vince.

Marth grinned broadly.  “Mission accomplished.”

**1.1.1**

              Word of MH’s meeting with Sakurai spread throughout the Project Nerf community.  At long last, something was about to be done!  After twenty days of hard work and lobbying, they finally had the attention of the Hand of Creation and Smash’s financier!  Their work wasn’t quite yet done, but at least the hardest part was behind them.  Project Nerf was now approaching home stretch.

              When MH told the Smashers of his business meeting tomorrow, Falco, Marth, Roy, Mewtwo, Dark Pit, Kyle and the other Smashers affiliated with Project Nerf feigned surprise.  Yet inside, they were giddy.  Even if the meeting went astray, at least they could tell everyone that they came this far.  They watched as Luigi sat in the front row, curiosity etched on his face, and silently snickered.  His world was about to come down around him, and he was none the wiser.

**1.1.1**

              When Chad heard about the business meeting, his heart felt heavy with guilt.  He knew what the meeting was about, and he was among those who helped instigate it.  If either of the Bros found out of his early involvement in this mess, only God knew what would happen.  So, the young man spent the rest of the day with his fingers crossed, praying and hoping against hope that the plumbers he’d made peace with wouldn’t uncover the despicable plot he used to contribute to.

**1.1.1**

              When Manny called Theo and Vanessa with the news, they felt just as vindicated as the other conspirators.  They were one step closer to being a real family again, playing video games together without fear of Ethan throwing a tantrum because a Luigi player beat him.  Vanessa went into her son’s room and broke the good news to him, and was rewarded with a tight hug.  Anna still believed that Luigi’s detractors were overreacting, but she agreed that nerfing him was best for everyone.

              The family celebrated by going on a hiking trail the parents frequented.  It was easy enough for the kids to master, though Anna had to be carried several times.  The trail culminated at the top of some bluffs overlooking the coast, foaming waves rolling and beating themselves against the sides.  It was there that the four rested, enjoying the view.

              “Mom?” Ethan spoke up.

              “Yes, Ethan?”

              “I’m sorry about the way I’ve acted lately.  You know, with Mario losing to Luigi and everything.  It was stupid and wrong, and I really miss going to school.”

              “I know,” Vanessa said softly.  “I’ll call the Principal and talk to her about getting your suspension lifted.  Besides, it wasn’t completely your fault, was it?”

              Ethan shook his head.

              “And once Mr. Sakurai finishes the new update patch, those pesky combos won’t disturb us again.”  Vanessa put an arm around her son.  “It still doesn’t excuse your behavior, and I’m happy to hear you apologize.  Just promise me you won’t act like that again.”

              Ethan nodded.  “I promise.  I hope I can start fresh with Mario.”

              Vanessa kissed the top of his head.  “I hope so, too.”

              They looked out to sea, watching it crash against the bluffs and foam and lightly spray them.  For the first time since this all began, they felt at peace.

**1.1.1**

              After Falco heard the news, he also felt at peace.  At peace with what happened between him and Luigi, and at peace with deciding to join Project Nerf.  If things went right, balance to Smash would be restored, and he could move past the guilt and dread, no matter how many dirty looks from Mario came his way.  After the last of his matches were fought, he hopped into his Arwing and took off into the evening sky.  He remembered inviting Luigi to fly with him, letting him sit in the copilot’s seat, the avian piloting the aircraft while Luigi gazed out the window.  He also remembered teaching Luigi the basics of piloting an Arwing, even letting him fly it on his own a few times.  He’d caught on pretty quickly.  The plumber used to clutch his seat and scream like he was on a roller coaster when Falco performed some aerial stunts, even passed out at one point (due to G-forces, not fright), but he eventually got used to it.

              The best moments of their friendship were aboard this Arwing, and now it was gone.  But Falco was convinced that it was only temporary.  Once those stupid combos were done away with, their relationship could be savaged.  It would be hard, yes, but it would be done.

              A great weight lifted off of Falco’s heart as he flew the Arwing into the sunset.

              Good times ahead, indeed.

 

             


	23. T Minus 9 Days

              Preparations were painstakingly made for this monumental day, especially for the members of Project Nerf.  Theo and Vanessa, for example, had their kids in bed by 7 o’clock the previous night.  The two Steves were in bed by 7:30.  Marth and Roy went straight to bed after dinner and their toilette.  Dark Pit was in bed by 8; Kyle took his dinner in his room and went to sleep soon after.  Falco carefully laid out his outfit for the next day before taking a relaxing bath, brewing himself some tea, putting on some music and ensuring that he was asleep by 8:15.  Mewtwo was the last of the conspirators to hit the sack, at 9p.m.

              The night didn’t pass quickly enough.  At long last, Theo and Vanessa’s phones chimed them awake at 5a.m.  They yawned, stretched and then roused Ethan and Anna.  The parents did an abbreviated workout while the kids showered and dressed.  After they did the same, Vanessa helped Anna style her hair while Theo gave Ethan a little trim.  They gobbled down a breakfast of cereal and fruit, packed some food and beverages into coolers, grabbed cameras and camcorders, put on their coats and headed out.

              By the time the family arrived at the Smash Mansion, news vans were already parked out front.  They decided to remain in the car, with the radio on, until it warmed up and the scene became livelier.

              At 7:15, more cars cruised into the parking lot, Smash fans making the journey to see Master Hand off.  Families began spreading out blankets and making themselves comfortable.  The sun pierced through the early morning fog.  Ethan and Anna started to get a little restless, so their parents finally exited the car.  They saw DJs setting up equipment and food trucks pulling up.  They were treating this like an important occasion, and maybe it was.

              It was 7:30 when the first Smashers emerged into the early morning.  Marth and Roy held hands as they strolled through vending booths, braving the chill and dancing to the music the DJs were spinning.  The two Steves wore matching business suits and were seated a good distance off, reading _TV Guide_.  Dark Pit was with Pit and Palutena, ordering from a food truck.  Rolf was chatting up a blond-haired fellow, while Chase nursed a cup of coffee.  Theo spotted Falco seated on the lawn next to Fox, enjoying some Starbucks.  The avian spotted him over Fox’s shoulder and excused himself.

              “Hey!” said Falco when he approached the family, and they exchanged high-fives, handshakes and hugs.

              “What do you think of this?” he asked.

              “A bit over the top,” opined Theo.

              “I disagree.  This is huge; it’s what we’ve worked for!” laughed Falco.

              “Don’t let them hear any of that,” cautioned Vanessa.

              “It’s big for them, too.  Whenever MH goes to discuss an update patch, we have a huge celebration.  He’s gone most of the day, so CH takes over as master of ceremonies, and he gives us a bit of fun.”

              “But it’s bigger for us,” smiled Ethan, “because…”

              “Shhh,” his parents cautioned him.

              “Sorry,” Ethan said sheepishly.

              “The limo’s gonna pull up.  MH is gonna say a few words.  Then he’s gonna get in, and we’ll watch and cheer as he drives off.”

              “Are we gonna welcome him back, too?” Anna asked excitedly.

              “Indeed.  He listened to what we had to say, and he delivered—hopefully.  We just don’t know when he’s gonna be back.  Sometimes, it’s the next morning.  Most of the time, it’s morning.”

              “Wow,” said Anna.

              “This is your first time, huh?”

              “Yeah,” said the two kids in unison.

              “And hopefully, it won’t be our last,” winked Theo.  “We look forward to contributing to Smash in the future.”

              Falco opened his beak to say something, but then his eyes widened.  “I gotta go,” he announced before darting back to join the other Smashers.

              The family soon saw why—the Mario Bros, joined by Peach, had emerged into the chilly morning.  Ethan went pale and pulled his hood over his face.  His mom blushed when she saw the Princess.

              Theo glanced knowingly at his wife.  “Go on,” he coaxed.  “Talk to her.  It’s all right.”

              Vanessa bit her lip before striding toward the blond Princess.

              Peach’s blue eyes lit up when the auburn-haired woman approached her.

              “Good morning,” she said sweetly.

              “Hi,” Vanessa replied.  Suddenly, she blurted out, “You rock!  I’m a big fan!”

              “Thanks,” smiled Peach.

              “May I—get your autograph?” Vanessa shyly asked.

              “Of course.”  With several light flourishes, Peach signed the first page of her section in Vanessa’s Smash game guide.  “You know, I’m very rarely approached for an autograph.”

              “I get it.  You’re busy ruling a kingdom; you don’t have time for that stuff.”

              “It’s also because I spend too much time—being rescued,” sighed Peach.  “Don’t tell anyone, but—I’ve tried to escape on my own numerous times.  I’ve taught myself how to pick a lock with a hairpin.”

              “But that turtle always stays a step ahead,” sighed Vanessa.

              “I don’t spend all of that time in a cage, Vanessa.  That’s just for—appearances.”

              “Then—what do you do all that time?”

              “Besides trying to escape?  Well, first, his attendants give me a bath, and then a mani-pedi, and then a stylist comes in and takes care of my hair, and then they give me some new clothes.”

              “They don’t let you tell your side of the story,” realized Vanessa.

              “That’s part of the business.  The gamers don’t care about that stuff.  They just want to smash bricks and blocks and jump on enemies and then face off with that beast.”

              “He doesn’t act like a beast when he’s bathing you and stuff,” shrugged Vanessa.

              “This is after he implements plans to take over my dominion,” explained Peach.  “He really doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

              “Why is that turtle so stubborn?” asked Vanessa.

              Peach scoffed.  “I’m starting to think he enjoys harassing my people and picking fights with Mario.”

              “Just—Mario?”

              “Recently, he’s started taking Luigi a little seriously, but after his little scene after L beat him…”  Peach shook her head.

              “You know, maybe that turtle is lonely and just wants a good woman to keep him company,” offered Vanessa.

              “Invading my kingdom day after day and dragging me off to his castle is a very bad way to ask me to keep him company,” Peach said heatedly.

              “I know.  Just sayin’.”

              Peach studied Vanessa.  “Wanna get together sometime?  Just you and me?”

              Vanessa was shocked.  “Well, I gotta talk with my folks first, but…”

              “Before we get to that, what’s your name?”

              “Vanessa.  I’m Vanessa.”

              “Nice to meet you, Vanessa.  Where are you from?”

              “Oakland, California.  We stay here over the summer.”  Vanessa cleared her throat.  “You know any good places to eat around here?”

              “Well, one of my constituents, Waluigi, owns a nice little taco stand in the MK.”

              “I’ve heard of Waluigi’s Taco Stand.  They tell me his tacos are pretty good.”

              Peach grinned.  “Wanna eat there?”

              “Sure.  When are you free?”

              “How about on Friday?”

              “Friday sounds good.”

              “2p.m.?”

              “How about noon?  Then I can go straight to the school to pick up my kids.”

              Peach beamed.  “See you there.”

              “Is it okay if I take a selfie with you before I go?”

              “Absolutely.”

              Vanessa took out her phone and snapped a few pics of herself with the Mushroom Princess.  “It was lovely to meet you,” she said finally.

              “It was lovely to meet you, too,” said Peach.  Suddenly, she leaned forward and kissed Vanessa on the cheek.

              “Whoa,” said Vanessa.

              When she made her way to Theo and her kids, they waited expectantly.  “So…?” they asked in unison.

              “We’re gonna have lunch on Friday,” said Vanessa.

              “Where?” asked Anna.

              “Waluigi’s Taco Stand,” Vanessa stated proudly.  “I’ll go straight from there to pick you up after school.”

              “I’ll pick them up,” Theo broke in.

              “Theo…”

              “I’ll pick up the kids on Friday,” said Theo.

              Vanessa brightened.  “Thanks.”

              News reporters now emerged from the vans, broadcasting to TV viewers far and wide on the developing story.  It was really getting crowded now.  The DJs sought to placate this crowd by hosting dance parties, contests and giveaways.  Theater troupes came in and performed skits.  Marching bands assembled in perfect formation, playing their renditions of video game music.  Lines for the food trucks snaked around the walls of the Smash mansion.  Ordinary citizens got to interact with their favorite Nintendo characters, receiving autographs and invaluable advice and taking selfies with them.  The reporters weaved through the throng, interviewing spectators and Smashers alike.  Both Mario and Chad were on hand to witness these things and were hoping against hope that this hubbub wasn’t what they thought it was, for different reasons.  Chad had bailed before this endeavor dragged him under, but he was still among those who’d set him in motion.  If they were found out, then they’d give him up to save their own hides.  Thanks to one rash decision, his name would forever be associated with Project Nerf, regardless of how he’d turned against it.  And Mario knew the drill for whenever Master Hand went to Nintendo HQ to discuss an update patch.  After weeks upon weeks of hearing people rail over Luigi’s down throw, he decided to go talk to the suits.  Coincidence?  Absolutely not!  He kept his responses short and curt when reporters addressed him, or bluntly stated “No comment”, hoping they’d take the hint that something was seriously wrong.  He observed Falco doing the complete opposite, relishing this whole thing like it was his special day and calmly munching on breakfast.  He was happy that he was going to get Luigi nerfed!  While he was outwardly cool and reserved regarding the whole thing, under his skin he was boiling with rage!

              At 8:45, Master Hand arrived, greeted by cheers from all around.  A limousine flanked by police on motorcycles pulled up to the valet entrance.  It was longer and larger than any limousine ever seen before, probably to accommodate a giant floating hand.  MH himself was accompanied by several Mii bodyguards who kept scoop-hungry reporters at bay.  He floated over to a podium set up in front of the limo.

              The Smashers clammed up at once, moving over to stand with him.

              “So,” Mario whispered to the master of ceremonies.  “This is really happening.”

              “Indeed,” replied MH.

              “I certainly can’t say that I’m surprised,” Mario pointedly went on.

              “Look, we’re here, and this is happening.  Deal with it, and let’s move on.”

              MH turned to face the reporters and spectators.  “Good morning,” he said.

              “Good morning!”

              “The time has come to once again put out the fires of discontent in Super Smash Brothers,” said MH.  “I will personally meet with the suits at Nintendo Headquarters to help engineer an update patch which will fix the anomalies that have been brought to my attention.  This process may cause me to be away for a few days.  In my absence, this tournament will continue under the watchful eye of my twin, Crazy Hand.”

              “Hi, guys,” said Crazy Hand.

              “I can hardly do this enough,” said MH, “a swift and unambiguous action on the substance of eradicating whatever malignancies blight this wonderful tournament.”

              Applause.  Mario bristled, but said nothing.

              Someone tossed a flower bouquet at the Hand of Creation, who caught it without missing a beat.

              Jeff climbed out of the limo and opened the passenger door for Master Hand.  Giving a final wave to the crowd, the glove ducked inside.  Jeff then closed the door, hopped back into the driver’s seat and guided the limo on its way as everyone else waved and shouted well-wishes after it.

              MH spent the journey looking over his notes and re-reading documents while listening to music on his Spotify.  By the time he arrived, he was relaxed and ready for action.

              “Break a leg, MH,” said Jeff as he let the Hand of Creation out.  “I’ll be waiting in here.”

              “Thanks, Jeff,” said MH, tipping Jeff and striding confidently inside.

              When MH stepped out of the elevator, Sakurai and his team were already waiting for him.  “Good morning, Master Hand,” said Sakurai.  “Truly, this is a momentous occasion.”

              “Indeed,” said MH.

              “Care for a drink?”

              “Sure.”

              In minutes, MH was seated with Sakurai in the latter’s office, nursing a glass of Scotch.

              “So, what can you agree is the general complaint among your Smashers?” asked Sakurai.

              MH sighed.  “Luigi’s down throw combos,” he said.  “I brought along testimonials and video, and most of them involve Luigi.  I have Smashers barging in after losing to him and raising the roof.  Like I said, I initially thought it was just salt, but lately, this has gotten out of hand—both literally and metaphorically speaking.”

              “What about the combos has them frustrated?”

              “They can’t escape them, and Luigi can string his combos together, extend them.  The issue here is how much of an advantage the combos give him.  If they give him too much, then I have to get you guys to tone them down.  But if you get rid of them completely, he’ll be at a severe disadvantage.  We’re dancing along a fine line here.”

              “I see,” said Sakurai, stroking his chin and pretending to weigh the odds.  His mind was already made up.  He and his team were going to strike at the heart of Luigi’s fighting strategy.  Without those combos, Sakurai’s allies would finally have the opportunity to whale on him.  It was the perfect revenge.

              MH, meanwhile, knew none of this.  He was only focused on preserving the spirit of friendly competition among the Smashers.  Right now, altering Luigi’s combo game seemed like the only option.  He was sure Luigi would understand, adapt to the new situation and perhaps discover new combos.

              “I need to see your testimonials,” Sakurai said finally.

              “Certainly,” said MH, extracting a thick pile of documents from his briefcase and handing them to Sakurai.

              There was silence as the head financier read through the statements each Smasher had submitted, all of them saying the same thing or similar things—that Luigi needed retooling when it came to his down throw combos.  MH could hear the second-hand ticking as it circled the clock in an endless cycle of motion.

              “Interesting—language—some of your Smashers have,” muttered Sakurai.

              MH’s heart stopped beating.  “Cursing?”

              Sakurai smiled.  “I like that.  It really proves our case.  That raw frustration is what we need.”

              MH let out a breath.  “So…”

              Sakurai grinned.  “Your Smashers have spoken.  The tournament is getting an update patch.”

              “I knew it.  So, how long will I be needed?”

              “Only two days.  This patch must also address other minor concerns and requests from the Smashers.”

              “I have CH babysitting.  I’ll call and give him the news, shall I?”

              “You think he can handle being MC for two days?”

              “I know he can.  I just don’t want him to go overboard.  Now, what exactly do you need from me?”

              “The usual.  Your signature authorizing us to make changes to the tournament.  Your signature of the contract between us which will detail what will be changed and why.  Your signature understanding that all changes we make are final, except for glitches, which must be reported within six months of the patch implementation.  You know the drill.”

              “So why the two days?”

              “We want to do this right.  We can’t just change Luigi and leave everyone else be.  Did they mention anything about new stages, new music, things like that?”

              “As a matter of fact, they did.”

              “We need to look through your interviews together and glean out the fine details.  We’ll have you in a nice hotel with a view of the skyline.  You’ll love it.  We’ll write everything out in our contract, you’ll sign off on everything, we’ll create an outline, and then we’ll part ways until the final draft is complete.”  He smiled.  “Let’s go ahead and get you checked in.”

              “Before we do that, I need to show you this video,” said MH, holding up at DVD and inserting it into the disk drive on Sakurai’s computer.

              It was a recording of a demonstration outside the Smash Mansion.  Sakurai watched, fascinated, as protesters gathered by the double doors, waving signs and flags.  He recognized Vanessa in the crowd, wearing a teal spaghetti strap shirt and cropped jeans, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed as she led marching chants.

              “When was this?” asked Sakurai.

              “Several days after I first reached out to you.  They’ve also circulated petitions around the Smash Mansion.”

              “Well, then,” said Sakurai.  “It looks like they’ll have something to celebrate tonight.  C’mon, I’ll take you to the hotel.”

**1.1.1**

              Marth was headed to the locker room after a match when Crazy Hand took him aside.

              “What is it?” asked the bluenette.

              “I just got off the phone with my brother.  Sakurai greenlit the update patch.”

              Marth smiled broadly.  “I’ll go tell the others,” he said.

**1.1.1**

              The celebrations were decidedly less restrained that night.  The meeting opened with a special performance by one of the marching bands from that morning, followed by an all-you-can-eat buffet, cake, pie, ice-cream, and a huge bar with a DJ in the middle.  Sakurai wasn’t lying when he said that the day’s events were worth celebrating!

              “Tonight,” said Vince, “our passionate entreaties and the terms of the status quo have been vindicated.  The people suffering because of those combos—the stifled minority—have said, ‘Enough, enough, enough’.”


	24. T Minus 8 Days

              “ _[Bleep] this, I’m on f—ing stream with my f—ing hands up!  I’m not starting my f—ing self!  You f—ing stupid [bleep]!  This stupid f—ing justice, all f—ing righteous f—ing [BLEEP], Luigi, is doing this [bleep]!  You f—ing [bleep]!  I swear to f—ing God, I’m gonna…You know what?  Everyone time in the chat ‘Luigi is a stupid [bleep]’.  Just type in the chat ‘Luigi is a stupid [bleep]’.  [Bleep] him.  [Bleep] him._ ”

              “Will you please turn that off?” MH asked in exasperation.  “I think I get the point now.”

              “Sorry,” Sakurai said innocently, closing the video out of his browser.

              The Hand of Creation took a few deep breaths, calming down.  “Things like that have plagued me for the past month,” he explained in a softer tone.  “If people aren’t ranting in my office, then they’re screaming about it on their video chats, and…”

              “I get it,” said Sakurai.

              “Well, they finally got what they wanted,” said MH, “and maybe now I can get some peace and quiet.”

              He was reading over the contract Sakurai had drawn up regarding the new patch.  He’d already read and signed the authorization form.  Whenever he read a contract, MH was sure to read it, and then reread it, in case the other party tried to pull something on him.  He trusted Sakurai, but he couldn’t brush off the fact that something more sinister was in play, something he was unwittingly helping to advance.

              “All right,” said MH, signing the contract.  “Let’s get this show on the road.”

              Sakurai opened up Microsoft Word.  “We will first compose an outline, because as I said, we need to address other minor concerns.  You said there were calls for new stages, right?”

              “Yes.  One based on Super Mario Maker, to be exact.”

              Sakurai typed something to that effect on the outline.  “What if I made it so that popular posts were likelier to appear more often on the Miiverse stage?”

              “That would give my fighters a morale boost,” murmured MH.  “Go ahead.”

              “And—how about the other fighters?”

              “Koopa wants to be mightier.”  MH rolled his eyes.  “He wants his Flying Slam to take the opponent’s stock first instead of vice versa.”

              “Mmm-hmm.”  Sakurai’s fingers were flying across his keyboard.

              “Dark Pit wants the tournament less sugary.  Falco wants a fighting style more diverse from Fox’s so he won’t be considered a clone anymore.  Someone, and I’m not naming names, wants the Mario Bros stage back, along with some more DLCs and some stages related to, uh, other games.”

              Sakurai abruptly stopped typing and pounded his fist against his desk.

              “Was it something I said?”

              “We both know it’s Luigi,” Sakurai said calmly.  “By ‘more DLCs’ I assume you mean Daisy?”

              “Well, I…”

              “And by ‘other games’ I assume you mean _his_ games?  All his life, he’s demanded more from us, which is why we’re in this pickle in the first place!”

              “Mr. Sakurai, Luigi is just sick and tired of being treated like he can’t be a hero in his own right.  I hear he’s been picked on because of his role in the Mario games.”

              “He comes to this office every chance he gets, trying to get Daisy in the tournaments.  The gall of that plumber, dictating terms to me!”

              “They really love each other, and if that means they’ll spend more time together…”

              “Life is tough, Master Hand.  You can’t expect to get everything you want.  I created the Smash Ballots, didn’t I?  Daisy will have a chance of getting in then!”

              “Let’s—not get off-topic, shall we?”

              Sakurai huffed.  “Fine.  What else?”

              “Well, Mario’s saying that the tournaments are growing too competitive for his taste, and that he wants some elements from the first tournament back, which conflicts with what Dark Pit had to say…”

              Sakurai grinned, his mood doing a 180.  “Well, how can I say no to my good friend, Mr. Nintendo?”  He typed furiously on his laptop.  “What else did our iconic man in red say?”

              “He’s the one who suggested bringing back Adventure Mode.  He also thinks the fighters should have the option of playing their own music on the stages.”

              “I’ll talk to the others about it.”

              “Oh, and he wants a bigger sweetspot for his f-air.”

              “Much obliged.”

              “I brought the transcripts from my interviews with the Smashers if you want to refer to them.”

              “Thanks, MH.  Now, let’s get to the main concern—Luigi’s combo game.”

              “Don’t—get rid of all of them, okay?  Is there any way you can tone down the combos while still making him a viable fighter?”

              “Since his down throw is the epicenter of his combos, the best approach to this situation is to alter its mechanics.”

              “How are you going to do that?”

              “I’ll simply decrease the base knockback scaling and growth.  That way, Luigi will no longer have access to those follow-ups.  It’ll be good for him, make him think a little.  But if he flounders without that crutch of his, then that’s his problem.”

              “I have faith in him,” said MH.  “He won’t flounder.”

              “I take it you want this done as soon as possible?”

              “Yes, I do.”

              “If I work with my team, then the patch notes will be ready for you on the 29th, and the patch can go into effect the next day.  How does that sound?”

              “I like it.  Thank you, Mr. Sakurai.”

              “All right.  But there’s one last form you need to sign before we get started.  The one stating that you understand that our changes are final, and that you must report all glitches you find within six months.”

              MH read through the form twice before signing it with a quick flourish.

              “Shall we begin?” he asked.

**1.1.1**

              It was a lively scene in the Smash Mansion.  The front yard, the backyard and the courtyards were occupied by live performers, DJs, vendors, news vans, food trucks, booths and games.  Crazy Hand had organized a festival to celebrate the imminent update patch and spared nothing with the expenses.  He invited the Smashers to hang out between their matches, eat good food and listen to good music.  He was also organizing a welcome-back party for MH tomorrow, complete with a huge cake, DJs, raffles and Jumbo-Trons.

              “Aren’t you going a little overboard on this?” asked Chad.  “I mean, these update patches occur regularly, when something comes up.”

              “Yeah, but I have a feeling about this one, y’know?  Like—it’s the update patch to end all update patches.”

              “That’s what they said about the previous ones.  What makes this one so special?”

              “Let’s just say that my brother is finally addressing the root of our concerns,” smiled CH.

              Chad suddenly felt sick.  He knew what the Hand of Destruction was talking about.

              “C’mon, Chad!” CH was saying.  “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

              “I used to, but now I know I was wrong.  I was antagonizing him and projecting my own problems onto him.  We need to improve ourselves in a fight against Luigi, but this isn’t it.  This is _not_ it.”

              “What are you, the morality police?” scoffed CH.  “You know, it was a sad day when we lost you; you had a lot of potential.”

              “I want to use that potential constructively, if you don’t mind,” said Chad.

              “This coming from the man who compared Smash to Weenie Hut, Jr’s?”

              “I made a mistake.  I want to rectify it.”

              “You go ahead and do that, Chad.  We won’t stop you.  But nowadays, Super Mario is breathing down our necks.  Who knows what we might do, what names we’ll name, to get him off our [bleeps]?”

              CH patted Chad on the shoulder and left.

              Chad buried his face in his hands.  “Why, oh, why did I get mixed up with those a—holes?!”

**1.1.1**

              “It’s good,” said Vince as he and his brothers looked at Sakurai’s outline.

              “I’m gonna work with the team to have it finished by the end of the month,” said Sakurai.

              “I still can’t believe MH fell for this,” chortled Shane.  “You’ll send him home tomorrow, and he’ll be none the wiser!”

              “And good for you, targeting that down throw directly!” said Manny.  “We’ll see what he thinks of it then!”

              “But I can’t help but ask,” said Sakurai, “What can I do to improve _your_ fighting styles?”

              “I dunno.  Just buff everyone else,” said Rolf.  “That’ll make life easier.”

              A chorus of “yeahs” backed him up.

              Sakurai smirked.  “That would be the perfect revenge, wouldn’t it?”

              Steve and Stevie simply smiled, visions of them relentlessly double-teaming Luigi dancing in their heads.

              “Trust me, my team and I will be laboring at this for the next few days.  At night, we’ll pass it around for you to take a look.  And we’re going to enjoy every minute of it.”

              “So will we,” said Shane.

              Vanessa spoke up.  “Theo and I have teamed up with some of our friends to organize a telethon,” she said.  “We don’t want Mr. Sakurai and his friends to want for anything while they’re hard at work.  So this network of ours is going to get food, water, supplies—anything you need—delivered right to your doorstep.”

              “Thank you, Vanessa,” said Sakurai.

              The members of Project Nerf smiled.  The final stage of their plan was underway.  Luigi had better say his prayers, because his days at the top were numbered!

 


	25. T Minus 7 Days

              The morning saw an explosion of activity.  Various Jumbo Trons blared to life in the Banquet Hall of the Smash Mansion.  Caterers arrived in droves with varieties of cakes and ice-cream and sandwiches and sliders.  A special parking lot was designated for news vans.  The backyard was crowded with bands rehearsing and performing sound checks.  There were DJs unpacking and plugging in their equipment and police officers on patrol.

              The Smash Mansion was preparing to welcome Master Hand home.

              The Smashers behind Project Nerf were anticipated, excited and optimistic.  There was no doubt that Sakurai had talked the Hand of Creation into putting those combos into the ground.  They were the first ones awake, showering, dressing their best and helping themselves to a breakfast buffet before heading outside and playing the various minigames set up.  From shooting hoops and playing one-on-one at the basketball court to dunking a volunteer dressed as Tingle the Elf into a tank of water to ring toss and darts to Twister, there were many ways of passing the time.  In between games, they danced to the music or chattered among themselves, patiently waiting for the final proof.

              When Theo and Vanessa arrived with their brood, their kids almost instantly filled up on donut holes and turned into human energy canisters, bouncing from one game to another.  Crazy Hand had his volunteers set up bounce houses and obstacle courses to keep the kids occupied, along with spa and massage booths for the adults.  For her help, Vanessa was rewarded with a free mani-pedi and a discounted facial.

              Later that morning, the rest of the Smashers arrived on the scene, noshing on breakfast foods and carrying on conversations while listening to and sometimes jamming with the live bands, checking out the booths or searching for engaging games to play.  Streets leading to the Smash Mansion were closed to traffic as crowds of people streamed in to witness MH’s triumphant return.

              Mario honestly didn’t see what the excitement was about.  In his opinion, the Hand of Creation had capitulated to these salty bullies and decided to have his brother’s playstyle “fixed”.  And by “fixed” he meant “nerfed”.  He didn’t know how and he didn’t know when, but he knew that Luigi’s combo game was doomed.  Why else did he go to Sakurai and conduct those interviews?  That was just for routine purposes.  The ax was poised over Luigi’s down throw from the word “go”.  Fueled by a few glasses of mimosa and a pile of French toast, the man in red decided to give the scoop-hungry reporters the God’s honest truth.

              “This tournament never asked for an update patch,” he said, crisply and calmly, into the mike.  “This tournament never _wanted_ an update patch.  I certainly haven’t found anything out of place here.  And the result of Master Hand’s ‘actions’, so-called, is a huge f—ing waste of time and money.  There are unscrupulous characters who despised a certain element of someone’s fighting style, so they made Master Hand into a weapon and pointed it at him.  And that gullible glove fell for it.”

              “Do you think this is a personal vendetta?” they asked him.

              “I most certainly do.”

              “Against whom?”

              “My little brother, Luigi.”

              They obtained a radically different view on things when they got a Project Nerf supporter in their sights.

              “This is weeks, even months, of dedication, planning, teamwork and lobbying coming to fruition,” he said.  “MH wouldn’t listen to us, so we made him listen, and finally, he delivered.  What we’ve dealt with is a high-and-mighty plumber who thinks his stupid down throw can glide him to the top, and we’ve all suffered for it!”

              “Do you think Luigi’s going to be nerfed, as the rumors say?”

              “I can feel it on the hairs along the back of my neck!  Weegee had better be ready, because he’s in for a rude awakening!  He’s hogged the victor’s spoils and denied his fellow competitors their share for too long!  Well, guess what!  We’re not gonna take this!”  He raised a fist in the air.  “Enough is enough!  I have had it with that m—f—ing plumber and his m—f—ing combos!  Stand back, folks!  MH is coming, and he’s about to bring the f—ing hammer down!”

              Luigi offered his opinion in an even, steely tone of voice.  “I have better things to do with my time than sit around and listen to everyone’s b.s. about how I’m overpowered, how I’m Player Two and a loser and how I steal victories from people.  First, my best friend yells at me, and now this.  I could be wrong—this update patch could leave my down throw untouched and address more important concerns, but there were no patch negotiations before this outcry started, and afterwards, the suits are drafting an update with Master Hand’s approval.  Coincidence?  I think not.”

              It was just after eleven in the morning when the beating of a drum line sounded faintly in the distance.  Everything else was all but forgotten as Smashers and ordinary citizens jammed the curbs and craned their necks to get their first look.  There, far down the street, was an approaching mass of red and gold.

              The mass soon materialized into a group of people, the drumbeats growing louder and being joined by horns and woodwinds and cymbals.  Excitement sprung up as this group of people materialized as a marching band, the marchers at the front carrying a banner between them.  Preceding them was a fleet of police officers on motorcycles, lights on and sirens blaring.  Quiet applause became full-blown cheering as the band arrived at the parkway of the Smash Mansion, heralding Master Hand’s triumphant return.

              The Hand himself was in the center of the band, comfortably reclining on a liter carried by four well-muscled, shirtless men.  He waved at the throngs of people, expertly catching the bouquets and goodies tossed to him.  It was as if he accomplished something big—and perhaps he did.  Further down, he noticed his Smashers lined up in neat rows to greet him, and upon closer inspection, the Mario Bros didn’t look especially happy to see him.

              After Master Hand came a pep squad, cartwheeling and tumbling and swishing pom-poms, followed by flag-twirlers, acrobats, clowns, people riding unicycles and a parade float made to look like the Smash symbol.  Standing on that float were the suits at Nintendo and their families, tossing candy and necklaces to the crowd.

              Master Hand arrived at a podium which had been set up for him.  He dismounted from the liter and made his way over, shaking hands with the Smashers as he went.  When he reached Mario, he asked, “Why the long face?”

              “I don’t know,” Mario coolly replied.  “I guess two days with Crazy Hand at the helm finally got to me.”

              “Wow.  I missed you too, Mario.”

              “I’m glad you fixed what needed to be fixed,” added the man in red.  MH heard the edge in his voice.  It should’ve cut like a razor.

              It didn’t.  Instead, MH turned his attention to Luigi, who also looked a bit miffed.  “What happened?  Was my brother mean to you?”

              “No, but a lot of others were,” Luigi responded.  “I guess Crazy Hand tends to loosen the restraints and isn’t as exasperated at dissenters as you.”  He tossed his head.  “But I’m used to it.”

              Luigi was right.  During those two days, the norm seemed to be “whale the living snot out of the man in green as much as you want, as long as you wanted”.  CH was very lax regarding rules of conduct and didn’t discipline as harshly as his twin.  Seeing that he preferred chaos over order, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

              MH surely wasn’t.  The summary Luigi had given him regarding the past two days sounded like vintage Crazy Hand to him.

              “Well, I guess they can stop their complaining now,” Luigi flippantly went on.  “They got what they wanted.”

              “Luigi—it wasn’t what this was about at all.”

              “Oh?  Then what was it about, Master Hand?”

              “Fixing some problems.  Leave it at that.”  Yet the glove could tell by Luigi’s facial expression that he wasn’t about to heed his advice.

              MH floated to the podium and began to speak.

              “People of the Smash World, I have returned, and I bring good tidings.  As of now, Nintendo is working hard to fix the concerns my Smashers have brought to my attention.  They tell me that the new update patch, which was approved two days ago, should go into effect by the end of this month.  I want to thank each and every one of you for your honesty and your efforts to make this tournament a better place.  I’d also like to thank my brother, Crazy Hand, for holding down the fort during my absence.  A new era will soon begin for Super Smash Brothers, with brand new stages, music options, and of course, improved mechanics.  I can hardly do this enough, a swift and unambiguous action on the substance of our ‘fair and balanced’ creed.”

              Applause.  MH descended the platform and floated to the entrance of the Smash Mansion, where he was greeted by confetti and party horns.

              “Surprise!” yelled Crazy Hand, glomping his twin.  “Welcome home, brother!”

**1.1.1**

              “Okay, folks,” said Sakurai as he and his team assembled at the Bennigan estate that night.  “We promised Master Hand that we’ll get this done by the end of the month, and we’re not going to break that promise.  Not on my watch!”

              “If all we have to do is get that down throw taken care of, then there’s nothing to worry about,” said Manny.  “Do you have a draft ready?”

              “We certainly do,” smiled Sakurai as he passed around copies of his first draft for the patch notes.  “What do you guys think?”

              The conspirators read over the draft once—twice—three times—until they could recite it by heart.

              “This is incredible,” mused Chase.

              “It’s brilliant,” Theo chimed in.  “You went for a specific aspect of that down throw.  It’s fantastic.”

              “Amazing work!” added Falco.  “You really know your work!”

              “Of course.  I developed this game,” smirked Sakurai.  “Now, one thing that bothers me.  I’ve included new stages and music tracks, but the only fighter we’ve tweaked so far is Luigi.  If we mess with him and leave everyone else be…”

              “That won’t be fair and balanced?” volunteered Vanessa.

              “Yes, and it’ll look suspicious.  I don’t want any evidence that I was with you guys from the beginning.  I have to tweak other fighters, as well.”

              “Make everyone else stronger,” said Rolf.  “Problem-o solved.”

              “No, that’ll make it look more suspicious,” said Sakurai.  “What I mean is—I have to nerf other people besides Luigi.”

              “Oh,” said everyone.

              “Well—if you wanna nerf my Tipper, go right ahead,” said Marth.  “I’m willing to make that sacrifice.  Who else is with me?”

              “Yeah—go ahead and pile on the nerfs if you have to,” said Koopa.  “A little nerf won’t bother us.  It’ll be worth it, anyhow.”

              “He’s right!  I’ll take a nerf over those f—ing combos any day of the week!” said Stevie.  “How about you, Steve?”

              “Yeah!  A nerf is better in comparison!” Steve chimed in.

              “I’ll let you give me a thousand nerfs just to see the look on Luigi’s face when he finds out he doesn’t have his precious combos anymore!” Dark Pit led the charge.

              “So—you’re okay with…?” said Sakurai.

              “Abso-f—ing-lutely!” cried the Smashers involved with the plot.

              “We just want those combos gone!” said Falco.

              “Duly noted.”  Sakurai scribbled something onto his notepad.  “We’ll bring our revisions before you all tomorrow night.  Until then— _au revoir_!”  He rose and strode out of the house as his team and bodyguards followed behind.

              “Wow,” said Vince after a stunned silence.  “I never would’ve thought that.”

              “If you’re that committed to something, then you gotta make sacrifices,” shrugged Falco.  “Like Koopa here said, it’s gonna be worth it.”

              “Now, a word of caution to our Smasher friends,” said Manny.  “The changes Sakurai dreamed up won’t take effect until the end of the month.  That means you have a week more of combos to endure.”

              Groans.

              “But—endure them well, for you will know that every hour which elapses is an hour closer to the new update patch, and we want Luigi to have his fun while he still can, yes?”

              “Yeah,” said Koopa.

              “So, whenever you feel the urge to barge into MH’s office and ask what’s taking so long, remember that things like these take time.”  Manny smiled.  “Your patience will be rewarded.”

              The Smashers among the conspirators sat on this thought for a moment.  Seven more days.  Seven more days of Luigi’s combos decimating—or trying to decimate—every opponent in his matchup schedule.  Seven more days of knuckling tight and waiting.  Seven more days of trying to hide their plot from Master Hand and the Mario Bros.  Could they do it?

              Oh, yes, they could.

 


	26. T Minus 6 Days

              The day began with very light rainfall, Mother Nature finally catching up to the fact that it was autumn.  It was a light, sprinkling rain, the ground barely getting wet, but it was a warning of what was to come.  Along with the rain came colder temperatures, short-sleeves and shorts being replaced with long-sleeves, jackets, leggings and jeans; flip-flops and sandals were swapped for sneakers and boots.  When the Smashers heard that familiar drumming on the roof, a few of them decided to head out to take in the first official rain of the season, cooling their skin, the metallic scent filling their nostrils, hearing the music the droplets made as they landed on the red, orange or yellow leaves about to fall.

              Falco sat in the cafeteria, eating an omelet, listening to the rain.  He was six days away from witnessing the beginning of a new age.  What would it be like, not having to worry about those combos anymore?  With those pesky matters no longer in the way, he’d approach Luigi with an olive branch, and their friendship would be as good as new.  As for Mario, that would be a completely different ballgame, but he wouldn’t worry about that right now.

              He glanced out the window.  The clouds hung low, but eventually, they would clear.  The storm would be over, and he and his fellow conspirators would have themselves to thank.  It would take six days, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  And they would reach it.  The nightmare was at an end.

              Finishing his omelet, Falco smeared some butter and jam onto an English muffin before wolfing it down, a glass of milk and a glass of water completing the meal.  He disposed of his trash and walked over to the elevator bay.  For a brief second, he remembered Luigi standing there, arms folded, after those words were said.  The avian blinked, and the image disappeared.  He called the elevator and stepped inside.  The door slid closed.  The car ascended.

              It then stopped after one floor.  Falco stiffened as Mario, Luigi and Peach entered.  He decided not to make eye contact; it would be better that way.  The doors slid closed and the elevator resumed its climb.

              Falco’s wing slid to his Blaster, and he patted it to reassure himself.  He struggled to control his breathing as his heart thumped out of control, his bowels seized and sweat popped out on his forehead.  Quietly, he murmured a prayer.  He honestly didn’t think he’d make it out of this elevator in one piece.

              Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mario turn toward Peach and pull her into a kiss.  Her eyes closed, and her arms rounded his short stature as she melted into it.  The little man placed his hands on his Princess’s hips and deepened the kiss, tasting her lips, her tongue, her mouth.  She made a small, satisfied sound in response.  They ended the kiss slowly, gradually separating their lips, taking deep breaths and then opening their eyes.  Mario smiled at her before gently turning her so that she faced away from Falco.

              The man in red then went over to Luigi and hugged him close, the two plumbers allowing their foreheads to touch.  Falco watched them hug, weighing his options.  He could either stop the elevator and flee while he can, or maybe get off at a different floor and wait for the next one.  Maybe there was no danger at all, and he was just being paranoid…

              Mario withdrew from the embrace, patted Luigi on the back and then turned him around so that he, too, wasn’t looking at Falco.  He whispered something to the two of them, something Falco couldn’t hear.  But when he saw Peach and Luigi cover their ears, a wave of nausea began crashing over him.

              The avian firmly placed a wing on his Blaster as Mario calmly strode toward him.  There was no hatred on his face, no rage in his eyes, as the red-capped one looked Luigi’s former friend over.  There was foreboding, heavy silence in the elevator, save for the beeps as they passed the floors.  Falco forced a smile and decided to break that silence.

              “Hey, how’s it going?” he asked as casually as he could, trying his best to hide the apprehension coursing through his every nerve.

              That simple question was the final straw for Mario.  He smashed his fist into Falco’s face, harder than he’d punched anyone in his life, including Koopa.  Falco sprawled against the railing, blood gushing from his nose and beak, and instinctively went for his Blaster, not to hurt Mario, but to scare him into standing down.  Not that he’d wind up in any trouble, since he was acting in self-defense.

              He never reached it.  Mario stomped hard on his wing, grinding it against the laminated floor.  Falco managed to draw the weapon with his other wing, but the man in red grabbed it before he could do anything with it, twisted his wing until he was forced to relinquish it, and then smashed it to pieces against the wall.  Falco Lombardi was now at Jumpman’s mercy.

              “No.  Please…” The plea was cut off with another punch to the face, then another and another and another.  Falco kicked out hard, striking Mario in the stomach, and dove for the emergency call button.  He was fast; Mario was faster.  The avian screamed and clawed at the floor as he was dragged by his legs away from his last hope of sanctuary.  He was roughly flipped onto his back, forced to look into cruel blue eyes as Mario straddled him.

              Peach and Luigi remained where Mario had directed them earlier, still as statues, hands clapped over their ears, eyes squeezed shut.  But they could still hear the sounds of the punches as they fell, each measured _thud_ leaving little to the imagination.  Falco was whimpering and begging for mercy, but the two of them remembered what he’d said about Luigi’s combos, how he’d betrayed a fourteen-year friendship, and made no move to stop Mario.  Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t—the abruptness of the act practically freezing them where they stood.

              Mario’s face was twisted into something unrecognizable as he released his rage, his fist blasting into that bird again and again and again, Falco’s entreaties falling on deaf ears.  He’d administered beatings before, mostly to the Koopa King, but never like this.  Never like this.  This—was weeks of rage bottled up in his soul, something special reserved for those who dared mess with the ones he loved.

              The sounds grew wet, the pleading voice growing weaker, Falco’s struggles becoming feebler and his grip on consciousness slipping—

              And.  Mario.  Just.  Kept.  On.  Punching.

              Falco woke up then, his body completely drenched in sweat, his sheets securely wrapped around him.  He lay completely still, giving himself time to reorient himself.  His heart rate returned to normal as the last of the dream faded away and the familiarity of his bedroom came into focus.  Good.  He was safe.  He was okay.  It was just a bad dream, is all.

              The part about the rain was real, but still, there wasn’t an angry plumber beating him up.

              Reaching over, Falco turned on his lamp, opened his drawer and dumped out its contents before flipping up the bottom and studying his Project Nerf identification card, which was hidden underneath.  He took it out, rubbing off the dust that had accumulated during the night.

              “It’s the only way,” he murmured. “It’s the only way.”

              He put back the identification card, rolled out of bed, turned up his TV and jumped into a cold shower, washing away his nightmare.  Then he put on his clothes and slipped the card into the breast pocket of his flight jacket.  He sat and watched TV until he heard the breakfast announcement.

              Breakfast was fluffy waffles with butter and Vermont maple syrup and scrambled eggs and toast on the side.  Falco didn’t care much for the eggs, but he ate several helpings of waffles, two glasses of milk, and one of those yogurt cups they always had during breakfast.  Once he was filled up, he dumped his trash and headed for the elevator bay, but he remembered his dream, and decided to take the stairs instead.  At the Main Hall, he looked at the day’s lineup and sighed in relief.  Neither Mario Bro was on his schedule.

              Chad appeared beside him.  “Hey,” he said.  “Is everything all right?”

              “Yeah.  Just had a freaky dream.”

              “Falco?”

              “Yeah?”

              “Just apologize.  To both of them,” Chad entreated.  “It won’t be that hard.  And I know Mario will come around eventually.”

              “It’s not that simple,” explained Falco.

              “What are you afraid of, Falco?”

              “I’m not afraid of anything.  I just—if Mario would stop acting like I’m the enemy…”

              “Don’t blame him.”

              “I want him to hear me out, but I’m scared that he won’t.  Is that what you want to hear?”

              “Falco…”

              “I feel his eyes on me every day of the week.  I can’t approach him.”

              “Let me talk to Mario,” Chad said after a while.  “I’ll see if I can get him to open his mind when it comes to you.  But I mean what I say.  You need to apologize to those two.  Sincerely this time.”

              “I _was_ sincere.”

              “Apparently not sincere enough.”  Chad’s voice softened.  “Just say that you’re sorry.  I’m sure you can build from there.”  He squeezed the avian on the shoulder.  “I’ll see you round.”

              He departed, leaving Falco lost in his thoughts.

**1.1.1**

              It was Ethan’s first day back in school following his suspension.  He showed up in top form, with cupcakes and candy for his teacher and classmates, followed by a beautiful apology which, of course, won them over.  His desk was just as he’d left it, and the student next to him was happy to fill him in on what he’d missed.  The day’s instruction began as usual, Ethan jotting down notes and only speaking when he was called upon.  He was watching his steps, all right, because he couldn’t afford another strike against him.

              Six minutes away from morning recess, the Principal’s voice crackled over the PA, summoning Ethan to her office.

              “Oh, boy,” grumbled Ethan, sliding out of his seat and trudging uncertainly down the hall.

              He pushed open the double doors to find the Principal waiting for him, attired in a business suit.  “Hello, Ethan,” she said sweetly.  “Welcome back.”

              “Look, Principal, about what happened…” Ethan sighed heavily.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what I was thinking.  I asked them to stop, I ignored them, but they persisted, and…”

              The Principal gently shushed him.  “I didn’t summon you here to talk about that,” she said.

              “Okay,” Ethan said uneasily.

              “Please, take a seat.”

              Ethan obeyed.

              “I know what you’ve been up to lately, Ethan.  The scheme you’ve partaken in alongside your parents.  In all my years of service to the public education system, I’ve never come across something quite that—elaborate.”

              Ethan squirmed.  “I—I can explain…”

              The Principal silenced him again.  “I have disciplined the students who provoked you that day, and have notified their parents,” she said.  “Your reaction to the situation was wrong, but their behavior also went against school policy.”

              A smile sneaked across Ethan’s face, feeling partially vindicated from that day’s events.

              “But this scheme I’ve uncovered,” the Principal continued, Ethan’s smile fading at her words.  “There remains a question of what to do about it…”

              “With all due respect, Principal, look at it from my perspective.  I’m helping to remove the ammunition the bullies use against me,” Ethan said politely.

              “Yes, I understand that,” said the Principal, “which is why I intend to give the Bennigan Brothers my full cooperation.  I will assist them—and you—in any way I can.”

              Ethan was stunned.  “Principal—are you feeling okay?”  He expected to be punished, along with his mom and dad, for the stunt they were pulling on that man in green.

              “Ethan, I’ve given this a lot of thought.  I think it’s admirable that you’re channeling your anger into something constructive, rather than something disruptive.  And if it means participating in a movement to get Master Hand to alter a Smasher’s playstyle, so be it.”  The Principal rose from her seat.  “Come with me.  I have something to show you.”

              The Principal ushered Ethan into a conference room, where the teen was greeted with a stunning sight.  Seated at the large round table were his mom and dad, along with the parents of his classmates.  There was his computer science teacher, his gym teacher, his science teacher, his history teacher, his homeroom teacher.  He saw the lunch helpers, the yard monitors, even the janitor and the bus driver.

              “Wha…” breathed Ethan.

              One-by-one, the people seated before him reached into their pockets and held up their identification cards, the same identification cards that the Bennigan Brothers had passed to the first wave of conspirators that had answered the call.  Ethan was mystified.  “Whoa.”

              “You have a lot of people in your corner, Ethan,” said the Principal, pulling out her own identification card.

              “Tell us what we can do, and we’ll do it,” said the head lunch lady.

              “Mr. Sakurai is working on the new update patch as we speak,” Ethan said once he’d found his voice.  “He’ll bring it to our nightly meetings so we can read over and edit his notes.  He’s promised Master Hand that it’ll be ready by the end of the month, but he needs our help to meet this deadline.  See to it that he and his team have enough food, water and toiletries to power them through this laborious task.  By the beginning of next week, the Bennigan Brothers need confirmation that the final draft of those patch notes is about to pass under their eyes.  By the 30th of this month, they need final and irrevocable proof that Luigi’s down throw combos have seen their last sunrise.”

              Theo and Vanessa stood there, holding their cards and beaming proudly at their son.

**1.1.1**

              A subtle change had come over Luigi during these last few days, and everyone who flocked to watch his matches caught a whiff of it.

              He spared nothing against his opponents, friend or foe, regarding those combos.  If he saw a chance to pull of a down throw combo, then he took it.  He spent the brunt of the fight in an offensive stance, only going on the defensive when he took enough blows.  There was this—expression—on his face which they couldn’t put down.  The way his eyes snapped and sparked and the way his mouth smiled, the slightly-parted or slightly-rounded lips.  It was something indignant and defiant, rounded into one.  All throughout that day, on stage after stage and opponent after opponent, Luigi’s down throw combos were having their last dance.

              If the strongest weapon in his arsenal was, in fact, on its way out, then it wasn’t about to go out lightly.  The man in green would make sure his combos would be missed if they were indeed done away with.  Nowadays, Luigi saw Master Hand as someone who bowed to peer pressure and tried to justify it.  He understood that he was trying to cater to gamers, but it wasn’t just coincidence that this buzz about an update patch didn’t start until after the complaining about Luigi’s combos.  The Hand of Creation was obliviously acting as a proxy in this grudge match, and it made the man in green nauseous.  His bouts helped work off the anger, but he saved the brunt of it for a spin bike in the fitness room, where he’d spend 45 minutes to an hour, earbuds in, shirt off, staring straight ahead as he tested the limits of his core and glutes.  Pedaling hard until a pool of sweat surrounded the bike and droplets leaped off of him, scattering every which way.  Men and women had wandered in and out, some doing workouts of their own, most of them pretending to work out so they could watch _him_ work out and take a big bite out of the eye candy.  They pretended not to listen to his deep, intense breaths or glance at his well-muscled shoulders or shoulder blades or the brief flashes of skin on the sides of his body.  He saw right through their charades, of course, but as always, he didn’t mind.

              Whether he was fighting Smashers or mounted on a spin bike, Luigi would think about the people he could thank for setting this into motion.  Primarily, he could thank Master Hand for listening to these saltlords and submitting to them rather than telling them to get some f—ing practice.  He could thank said saltlords for cursing him out and lambasting him, to Master Hand, to each other and over social media, because now they were getting their wish.  He could thank his status as Player Two, the constant reminder that his year was finished and that he needed to “get back in line”.  And also—

              …he could thank Falco Lombardi.

              He probably had some involvement in this.  He was the one who reamed Luigi out for his combos.  Who’s to say that he didn’t run to Master Hand in private while he was acting like he wanted to make amends?  Who’s to say that he wasn’t secretly conspiring with Luigi’s other detractors?  That bird certainly wasn’t making any more gestures toward reconciliation.  Thinking of Falco made Luigi even more worked up.  He didn’t even see him in the stands anymore.  He was trying to hide from his problems.  What kind of friend did that?

              His fans leaned forward, drinking in this new energy.  His fierce breathing echoed about the acoustic-friendly arena.  His muscles started aching, but he pushed onward.  All he could think about was chaining off as many combos as he could before they were permanently taken from him.  All he could think about was getting this aggression out of his system before he did something he’d regret.  And all he could do was hope against hope as he tried to ignore the whispers around him.

              Luigi won most of his bouts that day.  The Smashers he faced grumbled out of earshot and dragged battered and worn bodies to their bedrooms at the end of the day, fighting the urge to burst into MH’s office and demand what the hold-up was.  They were actually glad Luigi was fighting like this.  Let him, while he still could.

              “It’s almost over,” they whispered to each other.  “It’s almost over…”

             

 


	27. T Minus 5 Days

              It was the lunch rush at Waluigi’s Taco Stand.  The chefs, baristas and servers were hard at work serving up hot, fresh tacos, refreshing drinks and yummy desserts for the patrons.  Widescreen LED TVs were in every corner, broadcasting various Smash matches.  Salsa and Latin pop music blared merrily from the loudspeakers.  Waluigi’s Taco Stand had been known as one of the best casual dining locations in the MK for fifteen years, and it wasn’t about to relinquish that honor.

              At 1:56p.m., Vanessa walked inside the establishment.  Her auburn hair was tightly curled, her eyes lined with M.A.C. liner, L’Oréal eyeshadow giving a pink hue to her eyelids, her lashes touched up with Maybelline mascara and coral lipstick from OPI on her lips.  Sky blue gel nail polish adorned her nails.  Around her neck was a star-shaped necklace.  Her attire consisted of a carnation pink party dress, hot pink heels and a sparkling pink clutch.

              The young woman’s eyes scanned the place until she found the woman she was looking  for, sipping some water.

              The Princess looked up and rose when she saw Vanessa.  “Hi,” she greeted.

              “Hey,” said Vanessa.  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

              Peach grinned.  “Don’t worry.  You didn’t.”

              The ladies hugged before sitting at their table.

              “Nice place, huh?” said Peach.

              “Absolutely,” said Vanessa.

              The proprietor himself walked up to them, a white apron protecting his usual purple and navy getup.  “Hello, ladies,” he said in his usual nasal voice.  “What can I get started for you?”

              “I’d like a Strawberry Waa-garita, please,” said Vanessa.

              “And I’ll have the Waa Watermelon.  Thank you,” said Peach.

              “And we’d like to share the chips and salsa,” added Vanessa.

              “You got it,” said Waluigi before leaving to put the orders in.

              “He seems nice,” remarked Vanessa.

              Peach made a face.  “He’s—okay.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “He and Luigi—let’s just say that they’re not exactly each other’s Secret Santas,” explained Peach.  “I don’t know how it got started, but there’s a rivalry between them.”

              “Rivalry?  Ah,” said Vanessa, checking the information into her memory bank.

              “It’s probably a romantic rivalry,” Peach went on.  “Do you know about my friend, Daisy?  She’s Princess of Sarasaland, and Luigi’s seeing her.  But word has it that Waluigi wants Daisy to himself.”

              “Interesting,” said Vanessa.

              “Waluigi is—everything Luigi isn’t.  He’s his antithesis.”

              “So, whereas Luigi is compassionate, considerate and humble, Waluigi is…”

              “He has his redeeming moments, but yes,” said Peach.  “He makes some mean tacos, I’ll give you that.  You wanna know his nickname for Luigi?”

              “What is Waluigi’s nickname for Luigi?” asked Vanessa.

              “It’s Mr. Eyeballs.”

              They both looked up.  Waluigi stood at their table with their drinks.

              “Thanks, Waluigi,” said Peach as he placed the drinks before them.

              “Mr. Eyeballs?  That’s a weird nickname,” mused Vanessa.

              “One time after he knocked me out of a tennis tournament, I took a black marker and drew on his picture.  I put eyelashes on his eyes, and that’s how I came up with the name Mr. Eyeballs.”

              “Why can’t you let him be happy with Daisy?” asked Vanessa.

              “It’s not just Daisy,” explained Waluigi.  “We’re always in intense competition over everything.  Maybe I just don’t like him that much.  One time, I got to participate in this amateur boxing tournament, but of course, he had to steal my thunder.  We ended up slugging it out in the final round.  Three guesses as to who won.”

              “Luigi?” asked Vanessa.

              “It was a tie.  But you expected to say that he won, didn’t you?” Waluigi cackled.  “But enough of that.  We have our lunch special going on today.  Five Signature Tacos for the price of two, with a sweet corn tomatillo, a side of rice and black or refried beans.”

              “May I have the special, please?  I’d like two steak tacos and three carne asada tacos with black beans,” said Vanessa.

              “I’ll also have the special, all shrimp tacos, also with black beans,” said Peach.

              Waluigi smiled.  “I’ll be right back with your chips and salsa.”

              “He should be in Smash,” Vanessa said once Waluigi left.  “That rivalry could shake things up a bit.”

              “He’s an Assist Trophy,” said Peach.  “He hits people with a tennis racket and stomps on them for a bit, and then he’s gone.”

              “My husband and I don’t use items that often,” said Vanessa, “so thanks for the info.”

              “You’re welcome.”  Peach raised her glass.  “Cheers.”

              “Cheers.”

              The two toasted with their drinks, and Waluigi swung by with some freshly prepared tortilla chips and mild salsa.

              “Mario’s scheduled to fight that turtle in ten minutes,” he said.  “Shall I change the channel for you?”

              “Yes, please.  Thanks,” beamed Peach.  To Vanessa, she said, “I love it when that turtle gets what he deserves.”

              “Lunch and a show,” quipped Vanessa.

              “You have no idea,” said Peach, and the two laughed.

              Waluigi nodded.  “I’ll fetch a candle for the table.  It’s more romantic.”

              “What?  I’m not her date,” said Vanessa.  “I’m just—a fan.”

              “You appear to be a very big fan,” winked Waluigi.  “Just sayin’.”  He chuckled and withdrew to check on his other patrons.

              “You’re right about him,” said Vanessa.  “He has his moments, but he’s generally an all-right guy.”

              They began munching on their chips and salsa.  Vanessa glanced at the TV near them, which began to broadcast Mario’s fight.  “The match is about to start.”

              Two Miis gave a brief, pre-fight commentary before the scene switched to Mario and his archenemy, facing each other.

              “When we were seeing Master Hand off,” said Vanessa, “you said that your side of the story doesn’t receive any attention.”

              “It doesn’t,” sighed Peach.  “First off, I’m the girl you save, so it’s their job to portray me in that light.  Second, the Mario games are aimed at children, and if they saw what was going on in that other castle, imagine how many angry parents will show up with torches and pitchforks.”

              “Him giving you a bath—that’s understandable,” said Vanessa.

              “I’m talking about what happens after the baths,” whispered Peach.  “Like I said, I don’t spend all that time in some cage with a ribbon on top.”

              “Wha—what are you talking about?” Vanessa asked apprehensively.

              “Koopa—he loves power.  He craves it.  And he wants to take my kingdom, my people and me.  Body and soul.”

              “I get it.  He wants to conquer the kingdom, take you as his queen—but the good thing is that Mario thwarts him in the end, right?”

              “Not before he…” Peach cleared her throat.  “There’s eight worlds between me and Mario.  With the enemies and Koopa’s generals, there’s a lot of time for that turtle to do what he wants.  The cage is just to psyche everyone out.  You don’t see his bedchambers or his _handcuffs_ or the _toys_ he likes to mess around with.  You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that he’s into BDSM.  He doesn’t use it often, but he’s a fan of it.”

              “Peach—what are you trying to tell me?” asked Vanessa.

              “He doesn’t want to hurt me.  It’s established that he has genuine affections for me, but the fact that he wants to enslave my subjects is a major turn-off for me.  He wants me to be his Queen while he treats everyone else like [bleep].  That’s not love.”

              “Then why doesn’t he quit?”

              “Maybe you should ask _him_ that.”  Peach’s beautiful face had flushed to a rose color.  “He’ll give you a better answer, because I don’t know.  I just don’t know.”

              The other patrons had ceased what they were doing to watch the battle, cheers for Mario erupting every so often.

              “He’s gentle with me,” Peach was murmuring, “most of the time.  He gets into the heavy stuff when he needs to work something off.  In his mind, we’re the fairy-tale couple destined to be.  And he’s very smart.  He cleans up all of the evidence afterward; doesn’t leave even a small bruise or a scratch.  How thorough he is when we’re in the shower…”

              “In the shower?  I thought he gives you baths.”

              “The bath is before.  The shower is afterwards.”

              “Before what?  After what?” gasped Vanessa.

              “It happens additional times in the shower, too.  It can happen in his bedchambers, in the shower—anywhere convenient for him.”

              “‘It’?  What do you mean by that?  Wh—what is that reptile doing to you?”

              “And he relies more on cunning than physical strength—that’s why he doesn’t leave marks.  He…”  Peach trailed off.  “I’ve said too much.”

              “Do they know?” Vanessa ventured to ask.

              “Well—they have some clue,” said Peach.

              “Peach, c’mon.  Do.  They.  Know?”

              Peach leaned over and whispered into Vanessa’s ear, “Yes.”

              “There has to be something we can do,” said Vanessa.

              Peach scoffed.  “No one will believe us,” he said.  “And Koopa will keep coming back, no matter how many times he falls off a bridge into lava, or topples into the Sun, or something like that.”

              “I’m sure someone will.  That beast can’t get away with—that!  These types of crimes—are taken very seriously.”

              “Talk to the people who say I enjoy being spirited off to another castle.  They’ll offer a different opinion.”

              Vanessa understood now.  “I see.”

              “But—enough of that heavy stuff,” smiled Peach.  “Let’s talk about you.  How did you hear about me?”

              “A friend of mine brought the first SMB game as soon as it hit the stores,” Vanessa explained.  “Some nights, I’d sleep over at her place so we can take turns clearing worlds.  I was so happy and so proud when we reached you.  As I grew up, I began to wonder how you’d keep your sanity in there.  Then, of course came the kart races and the parties, and the fact that you could glide.  My interest in you continued to grow until Melee came around.  That’s when I decided to make you my main—you’ve been my main ever since.  Then I met Theo and discovered that he was a Mario main.  The rest is history.”

              “Nice to have a fan,” said Peach.

              “I’m stoked about how you keep your optimism,” said Vanessa.

              “I have to.  I’ve got millions of constituents who depend on it.  Besides, that turtle wants me to break down.  I won’t allow him that privilege.”

              “Shortly after Theo and I got married, we decided that we liked you and Mario as a couple.  When Ethan was born, we gave him a Mario-themed nursery, and he became a bona fide Mario fan when he was six.  Then, Anna came along, and she decided that she liked Mario, too.  Mario is someone all kids look up to.  He’s an everyman, and yet, he’s a hero who never says ‘can’t’.  This world needs more people like him, who persevere, who have that skip in their step no matter what’s thrown at them.  I guess that’s why my kids find him so appealing.”

              “And what about Luigi?” asked Peach.

              “Luigi’s had a limited role in the games, so they don’t know what to think.”

              “Ethan didn’t take Mario losing to Luigi very well.”  Peach sipped her drink.

              “Hey, c’mon,” Vanessa said gently.  “He apologized.  A few weeks without video games can humble someone; I’ll tell you that.”

              “I just want to know why,” Peach calmly explained.  “Why is it such a big deal to others?”

              Waluigi arrived with their tacos, the divine smell of freshly prepared tortillas, mexicampi shrimp, roasted carne asada, steak and spices filling the women’s nostrils.

              “Mmmmm,” said Vanessa.  “No wonder this place gets rave reviews.”

              Waluigi grinned, and then withdrew a candle, placed it in the middle of the table and lit it.  Soon, the aromas of strawberry and vanilla joined in the smells of the food.

              Peach smiled politely.  “Thank you,” she said.

              “He’s winning,” said Waluigi.  “I think he’s got a good chance.”

              “Of course he does,” said Vanessa.  “Mario’s got ‘luck’ tattooed to his moustache.”

              “I was just about to say that,” gasped Peach.  “We’re so in sync!”

              Waluigi smirked. “Wow, Princess.  You two really are made for each other.”

              Vanessa sighed.  “I’m not her date, Waluigi.”

              Waluigi just chuckled again and departed.

              “Everyone thinks Mario’s indestructible,” said Vanessa, picking up the conversation, “like he can never lose, never feel, never hurt, never bleed.  They’ve been conditioned to believe this myth, not realizing that he’s human, like everyone else.  So when he loses, it’s a big deal to them.”  She took a nice bite out of her taco.

              “Is it really that?” challenged Peach, “or is it the fact that they don’t see Luigi as a winner?”

              Vanessa managed to keep her cool.  “They want Mario to come out on top because it stabilizes the status quo.”

              “If he lost to that turtle,” said Peach, gesturing to the TV, “then would his fans have reacted so strongly?”

              “I think so,” nodded Vanessa, “because then the bad guy would win, and that would disrupt the status quo.”

              “What if he lost to me?” pressed Peach.  “Or DK?  Or Yoshi?  Or Link?  Or one of his other friends?”

              “Well, I…” Vanessa trailed off and averted her gaze.

              Peach looked at her.  “See what I mean?”

              “Ethan feels really bad about his actions that day,” said Vanessa, taking another bite out of her taco.  “He wants to do something nice for Mario sometime.”

              Peach was munching on her taco, as well.  “Very kind of him,” she said.

              “And Anna—she didn’t really mind.  She likes both brothers,” added Vanessa.

              The two fell silent then, enjoying their tacos as well as every delicious second of the fight unfolding on the TV screens before them.  As promised, Waluigi had turned up the volume, allowing them to hear the sound of each connecting blow.  The fight commentators narrated the progress of the fight in increasingly excited tones.  The other restaurant patrons hung on to every moment and began to get rowdy as they downed more spirits, booing and cursing the Koopa King whenever he got a slash in or tried to fight dirty. 

              Vanessa stole a glance at Peach, drinking in the enthralled expression on her face, eyes blue-black with desire, pupils dilating, a light film of sweat on her blow, the jewel on her dress moving in an out with her heaving bosom.  She was really into this fight, and Vanessa found herself drawn into it, as well.  Was Theo also watching from home, armed with snacks and a can of soda?  Were Ethan and Anna secretly watching instead of listening to their teachers?  She saw people placing their bets, adjusting them as the fight progressed.  She saw Mario’s determined, sweaty face briefly fill the screen.  Fishing out a wad of cash, Vanessa used it to bet in Mario’s favor.  Peach added a sack of gold coins.

              “You see anyone complaining about him?” asked Peach.

              Vanessa shook her head, her mouth full.

              “That’s because he’s the golden boy.  People are crowding this place just to see that turtle get thrashed.  But imagine if it was Luigi…”

              “Luigi attracts a good crowd,” argued Vanessa.

              “Because they want to see him lose, fail, humiliate himself.”

              “Not exactly.  I’ve seen a good majority of spectators rooting for him.”

              “Yes, he’s gained a lot of fans, but they’re still outnumbered by his detractors,” sighed Peach.  “They’ve even managed to use Master Hand as a pawn.  I mean, can’t you believe that?”

              “Not at all,” said Vanessa.

              “They want to get rid of his combos to make it easier for them to beat him up,” Peach went on.  “If you ask me, that’s nothing but harassment in disguise.”

              Vanessa nodded distractedly.

              “C’mon, now, you’ve gotta win this!” they heard a waitress shout at the TV.  “There’s no way I’m going back on my shift empty-handed!”

              “Yeah!” chimed in one of her colleagues.  “He’s lusting after your Princess, remember?  Beat that S.O.B.!”

              “Hey,” said Vanessa.  “I wanna show you some pictures.”  She wanted to get Peach’s mind off of these heavy topics so the two of them could properly bond.

              “You brought pictures?” Peach asked curiously.

              Vanessa fished out her phone and opened the Photos app.  “My husband, my kids and I—are into cosplay,” she explained.

              Peach scooted over next to Vanessa so she could better view the photos.

              “Here’s me when I was little,” smiled Vanessa as the women looked at pictures at a young, redheaded girl in a pink princess dress, “and this is me playing _Super Princess Peach_.  I’m the only one in my class who really liked that game.  Oh, and here I am at the prom, with my date.  We were so close to being crowned prom king and queen.  This photo was taken at the first Comic-Con I ever attended…”

              “Oh, come on!” someone shouted, interrupting Vanessa.  On the TV, Mario was on the floor, bleeding and struggling to stand.

              Peach was ashen.  “Mario…” she whispered.

              “F—ing turtle,” somebody growled.

              Catcalls nearly drowned them out.

              Vanessa laid her hand over Peach’s, comforting her.  “He’s gonna make it.  He doesn’t give up that easily.”

              Peach took several deep breaths.  “Do you have any more photos?” she finally asked.

              “Sure.  These were taken when Ethan and I met and fell in love.  Isn’t he a knockout in his Mario costume?”

              “He sure is.”

              “And here are our wedding photos…”

              Peach sighed.  “So romantic.”

              “Have you ever thought of…?”

              “I don’t think we’re ready,” said Peach.  “He constantly has to fight off bad guys, and I have royal duties.”

              “This one was taken at my first baby shower—and here’s my second baby shower.  Ethan’s was Mario-themed, whereas Anna’s was themed for you.”

              “Hm,” said Peach.

              “And here are some of their baby pictures…”

              “They are just cute little buttons, aren’t they?  I can’t believe Ethan’s almost all grown up!”

              “Ethan’s generally a good brother,” said Vanessa.  “It was just that one time, though.  He swore he’d never be mean to her again.”

              She opened another folder full of pictures.  “These are from a play Ethan wrote when he was ten.  It’s called ‘Forever Our Hero’.”

              “He’s very creative—hey, that’s you!”

              “Yup.  I’m supposed to be a Toad.  And Theo was the big, bad turtle causing everyone trouble.”

              “Got him!” the waitress shouted triumphantly.  “He got him!”

              The patrons cheered.  Peach looked up and beamed at Mario’s image on the TV, doing a strongman pose and celebrating his victory.  She and Vanessa went over to collect their winnings.

              “We’re rich!” cried the waitress, laughing as she kissed a wad of cash.

              The celebrations continued throughout the post-fight commentary.  Peach was just relieved that Mario had come out on top.  She hoped that he wasn’t hurt too badly.

              Everyone quieted as a Mii interviewed Mario, who gave a few breathless remarks.  He was bruised, bloodied and had a hand over his right side, but his spirits were high.  Then Peach looked closer.  Was that _blood_ seeping from between Mario’s fingers as he continued to clutch his side…?

              “I just wanna say hi to my baby bro, who watched and cheered me on from beginning to end,” Mario was saying on the TV, “and I also wanna say hi to the Princess.  I love you, Peachy!  I always have!”

              Peach blew a kiss.  “I love you, too!” she cried.

              “I’d better go get my wounds looked at,” Mario told the interviewer.  “My bro sees this, and he’ll be all over that turtle and everyone, and my life will be over.”

              “D—n straight,” said Peach.

              “I just love how those two look out for one another,” gushed Vanessa.  “I hope Ethan and Anna become like that in the future.”

              “Maybe they will.  From what I saw in those photos, Ethan wants to model himself off of Mario.  If only he understand that he has flaws, like the rest of us.”

              “I know.  It’s a hard pill to swallow, but he’ll learn when he gets older,” smiled Vanessa.

              The ladies finished the rest of their tacos, and then Waluigi approached their table, plunking dishes of vanilla ice cream in front of them.

              “On the house, in honor of Mario’s victory,” he said.

              “Thank you, Waluigi,” the women said in unison.

              “I read somewhere that ice cream is the perfect end to a date,” added the man in purple.

              Vanessa rolled her eyes.  “For the last time, I’m _not_ her date.”

**1.1.1**

              “There you go,” said Dr. Mario as he finished stitching up his counterpart’s wounds.  “Good as new.”

              “Thanks, Doc,” smiled Mario.

              “I wouldn’t recommend any physical activity for at least two days,” Dr. Mario went on.

              “Noted.”

              “And try to relax.  Stay away from anything stressful.”

              Mario nodded.  _Like that would be easy._   He had to pass by one contributor to his stress day after day, and another contributor was in a big office down the hall.  But what better way to deal with it than to take it out on his worst enemy?  The things he imagined that turtle doing to his Princess whenever she was in his clutches…

              Dr. Mario gave his counterpart some antibiotics.  “I’m putting you on a seven-day regimen.  I don’t want those stitches getting infected.”

              “Out of curiosity,” murmured the plumber, “after you get beaten up out there, who’s there to fix you up?”

              Dr. Mario looked deeply into Mario’s eyes.  “Truth is—the friends you make—your family—their love and their support—that’s the best medicine you can find,” he said truthfully.  “Are you gonna be okay?”

              Mario nodded.  “Yeah.”

              Dr. Mario patted him on the shoulder.  “You take care of yourself, okay?”

              “Okay.”

              The good doctor watched as Mario walked out of the office.

**1.1.1**

              That night, Vanessa returned to Waluigi’s Taco Stand—this time to meet with her co-conspirators.  The proprietor greeted them with platters of endless tacos and plates of flan for dessert.  He didn’t ask about the strange cards they flashed at the entrance.  Nor did he bat an eyelash when he overheard them badmouthing Luigi.  More customers meant more business, and more business meant more money.  As long as he had income flowing in, he was happy.

              “You’re being chummy with Peach,” Vince said to Vanessa.  “Why?”

              “I believe she has information that I can exploit.”  This, of course, wasn’t entirely true, but she didn’t want them to think that she was fraternizing with one of Luigi’s sympathizers, was she?

              “What information?”

              “Well, she told me that Waluigi and Luigi can’t stand each other,” said Vanessa.

              “And?”

              “That’s incentive for him to help us, isn’t it?”

              “Has she told you anything else?” asked Manny.

              “Not yet.  But she’ll open up, never fear.”

              Everyone except Vanessa and her family started when a group of women suddenly entered the restaurant.

              “We’ve been spotted!  Evasive maneuvers!” cried Shane.

              Vanessa leaped to her feet.  “It’s all right!  They’re the members of my book club.  I invited them here.  They want to help.”

              The Bennigan Brothers relaxed as the women introduced themselves to Sakurai and his entourage.

              “They want to help with the editing,” Vanessa explained.  “I warned them that they were taking risks, but they’re willing to accept them.”

              “Welcome aboard, ladies,” smiled Manny as Sakurai passed copies of the patch notes to the book club members.

              “How’s it coming?” asked Falco.

              “We’ve got just about everyone,” said Sakurai.  “Now, we have to proofread it for grammatical mistakes, and then a second time to add whatever we forgot the first time around.”

              “I thought you proofread for content first,” Ethan piped up.

              Sakurai flashed him a wry grin.  “Everyone has their own way of editing,” he shrugged.  “I imagine that the notes will be ready by the 29th.  We’ll personally deliver them to Master Hand, and he’ll put the patch into effect the following day.”

              “Brilliant,” said Koopa.  “Are you sure you can’t do anything about Mario?  He really buffeted me this afternoon.”

              “I don’t see how he needs changing,” said Sakurai.  “But maybe the new patch will give you a better chance against him.”

              Koopa winced.  “I hope so.”

              Waluigi approached their table, a pitcher of soda in hand.  “I have no idea what you’re up to,” he said, “and frankly, I don’t give a d—n.  But when the music stops—I’ll be much obliged if Mr. Eyeballs found himself without a chair.”

             

 

             

               

             

 

   


	28. T Minus 4 Days

**T Minus 4 Days**

**96 Hours Remain**

              He spent the morning reclined on his bed, watching movies on demand.  Nothing like a few oldies but goodies to cheer him up.  His mood really brightened after viewing the coming-of-age tale _Cinema Paradiso_.  A close second was the romantic comedy _Pan e tulipani_ (Bread and Tulips).  After he grew bored of television, he changed the channel to CNN, put it on mute, got out his phone and his earbuds and opened one of his playlists.  He lay back on his pillow, hands clasped under it, eyes closed, as the music played.  Mario was following the doctor’s advice and resting easy today.

              Two hours elapsed before he sensed his brother at the door.  Removing one earbud, he said, “Come in.”

                Luigi was all smiles as he walked in, closing the door behind him.  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

              “A little sore, but I’m doing better.”  Mario didn’t want Luigi to worry, or worse, entertain thoughts of retaliation and get himself hurt in turn.  He already had enough on his plate, with the death warrant drawn up for his combos.  The very thought caused his stitches to tingle.

              “Let me see,” said Luigi.

              Mario’s eyes widened.  “I don’t think you want to…”

              “Please, Bro?  I need to see it.”

              Sighing, Mario unclasped his overalls and lifted his shirt.  Luigi wanted to faint when he saw the ugly scars running up and down his elder brother’s flank and the precise stitches standing out against muscles, marring the skin.

              “It’s better than it was yesterday,” said Mario.  Then, he noticed the mug in Luigi’s hands.  “You brought me tea?”

              “Cider,” said Luigi, composing himself and placing the mug on the nightstand.

              Mario chuckled.  “You always know how to take care of me.”

              “Want me to kiss that and make it better?”

              “L, the doctor said to leave them unperturbed.”

              “Okay.  Then how about here?”  Luigi strolled forward and kissed Mario on the forehead.

              Mario blinked.  “That _does_ help.”  He refastened his overalls.  “How about you, Lil’ Bro?  How are you feeling?”

              “Relieved, knowing that you’re recovering quickly.”

              Mario gave him a look.  “You know what I’m talking about, L.  And I’m not dropping the subject until you give me a straight answer.”

              Luigi took a seat beside Mario.  “I’m angry,” he said quietly.  “I’m angry at Master Hand—scratch that—I’m p—ed at Master Hand.  They paraded their rhetoric of hate in front of him, and he believed them.  Without giving me a second thought, he believed them.  Then he met with the suits and—finalized everything.  Every tick of the clock feels like a countdown, because it’s only a matter of when the changes will take effect.”

              “Right now, they’re saying that the new patch will go into effect on the 30th.  That’s only four days from now.”

              “The one in charge of this tournament’s well-being allowed himself to be swindled.  I never really thought that would happen.  But it did.”

              “You know what I would do with these next four days?” asked Mario.

              “What?”

              Mario beamed at Luigi.  “Give ‘em Hell.  Give ‘em Hell like you’ve never given ‘em before.  If your combos are, in fact, on their way out, then they should go out on your terms.”

              Luigi nodded.  “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

              “Don’t dread the seconds as they pass by.  Relish them.  Cherish them.”

              “Okeydokey!” Luigi felt a bit better now.

              “Something else is on your mind.”

              “I have to pass Falco in the halls and sit with him in the cafeteria, knowing that he helped spawn this,” said Luigi.  “I want to take your advice to heart, but—somewhere, deep down in my heart—I still think we can make things work.”

              “Fourteen years,” Mario said softly.  “Fourteen years of trust—trust that he betrayed.”

              “I’m trying not to make excuses for him, but I can’t help it.  I can’t help but think that he didn’t mean it—that cutting him off was too extreme.  At the same time, I want to try to initiate a reconciliation, and then the words replay in my head.  And he actively avoids me and cowers from you.  And I _hate_ him.”

              “What do you want to do?” asked Mario.  “Because I can’t tell you how to deal with your relationships.  I can give you advice, though.”

              “I want to follow your advice, because I don’t want to get hurt again.”

              “And…?”

              “I miss spending time with him, and—I just wish he’d hear me out!”

              “Bro—I trust you’ll make the right decision.  But I’m warning you, if Falco’s reluctant to reconcile—then maybe he just doesn’t want to.  You have other friends, and better friends at that.  You have me.”

              Luigi looked deeply into his brother’s face.  “That’s right.  I do.  And you have _me_.”

              With that, the green-clad one pulled the red-clad one into a warm hug.

              “Thanks for the cider,” said Mario after they separated.  “Today’s my relaxation day, but tomorrow, I’m back in action.”

              “We’ll be waiting for you,” said Luigi.  He offered one final smile before leaving Mario to his own devices.

**1.1.1**

              “Oh, come on!” snapped Chad.

              “Think about it, will you?” retorted Falco, seated across from him.  “Once the update patch is applied and everything blows over, I can approach Luigi with a clean slate and earn his forgiveness.  He won’t have to know I was behind it.”

              “He knows,” said Chad.  “He’s very cool and snarky towards Master Hand nowadays, ever since he got back from that meeting.  He knows it’s not a coincidence because this talk of an update patch came along after MH was put through the wringer.”

              “Those combos are the reason why we argued in the first place.  With them gone, there won’t be anything between us,” reasoned Falco.

              Chad huffed.  “Do you actually think he’s just going to run right back to you after you’ve magically changed your mind after, what, three weeks?  I don’t even consider _myself_ one of his friends yet, and that’s saying something.”

              “I’ve avoided him because I just can’t stand those combos after being defeated by them one time too many.  Don’t you understand?  It’s the combos I’m upset at, not Luigi.”

              Chad was disbelieved.  “How many times are you going to stop avoiding the blame for this falling-out?”

              “Avoiding the blame?  I’m guiltless,” Falco shot back.  “All I did was tell the truth, and he threw a hissy-fit and kicked me to the curb!”

              “I thought you said you’re not upset at Luigi,” said Chad.  “You sound like you’re holding him responsible to me.”

              Falco was flustered for a moment.  “Look, Chad—the fact of the matter is, Luigi needs to see that there’s more to this tournament than combos.  Project Nerf will help with that.”

              Chad stared open-mouthed at Falco, the bottom of one eye twitching erratically.  Then, he lost it.

              “You’re nothing but rats jumping from a sinking ship!” he shouted.  “What makes you think a nerf will be any different?  Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Luigi will think of new combos—once he gets over the shock of being nerfed?!  Other fighters were nerfed in previous patches, but did they sit around feeling sorry for themselves?!  No!  They tailored their fighting strategy to adapt to the nerf!  Luigi’s going to do the same thing, Falco!  You and your friends are wasting your time!”

              “Are we?” challenged Falco.

              “Luigi’s not some combo machine!  He’s human, like the rest of us!  You think your harassment just bounces off of him?  Well, it doesn’t!  You want to paint him as overpowered so he can feel bad about himself!  I was able to realize that when I refused to thank him after being teamed with him, and I wish you would, too!”

              “Do you know why he feels that way?  Because he’s arrogant!” snapped Falco.  “He thinks his combos solve all of his problems on the battlefield.  This whole Year of Luigi business also gave him a bit of a power trip.  Now he thinks he’s everything!  And now he’s treating me like the bad guy because I tried to break him out of his little delusion!”

              He rose from his seat and glared at Chad.  “You wanna get sucked into his little web?  You be my guest.  But I’m committed to Project Nerf, and I swear, I’m gonna see this through to the end.”

              “Fine.  Your funeral,” Chad said coldly as the avian stormed out.

              He dropped his head into his hands.  All of his efforts to try and help Falco save his friendship with Luigi were met with resistance.  It was as if he didn’t want that friendship anymore.  And when Chad tried to reason with him, this happened.  Frustrated, Chad was on the brink of declaring this a lost cause.  Falco wasn’t participating in Project Nerf to salvage a fourteen-year-old relationship; he was participating because he wanted to.

              “Forget him,” Chad muttered before changing into a muscle shirt and leggings, grabbing his workout gear and heading to the gym.

**1.1.1**

              The Smash Mansion had several attractions open to Smashers as well as the general public.  Among them was a running and hiking trail which threaded along the premises and the surrounding area, with drinking fountains and benches scattered along certain points.  Hikers and fitness buffs took advantage of this trail for its scenic views and easy trek.  Early mornings were the trail’s peak hours due to the cool temperatures, but you could find some runners giving it a whirl in the late afternoon and early evening, so they could take pictures of the sunset.

              On this lovely afternoon, a solitary young woman took the trail at a moderate running pace, her auburn ponytail flopping back and forth.  She was dressed in peach-colored gym shorts, pink-and-white striped sneakers with matching socks and a peach-colored sports bra.  Her cell phone and a bottle of chilled water were securely strapped into a workout belt around her waist, and a familiar cord dangled from her ears to the phone.  An intense, focused look was on her face, sweat glistening on her form.

              Vanessa was nearing the end of her daily “me time”.  Soon, it would be time to pick up Ethan and Anna from school, help them with homework and then help prepare dinner once Theo came home from work.  Luckily, Ethan was making things easier by causing no more problems at school, helping with housework and organizing the ingredients required for the day’s dish.  There were no more complaints about having a certain dish again and again, and no more badgering about dessert.  All of that was over for him.  He had to save that energy for the remainder of Project Nerf.

              Still, it was nothing like a good run to help Vanessa organize her thoughts before all of that.

              Snippets of her lunch with Peach replayed in her mind.  It was something she’d wished for since—well, forever.  But she was also involved in a scheme against one of her constituents, and one of her heroes, to boot.  If Peach discovered Vanessa’s complicity in Luigi’s nerf, she’d feel betrayed.  But Vanessa would have to explain to her that she did this for her son, that altering that down throw was good for everyone in the long run.  She was dancing on a fine line, but she decided that it was worth it.  The kids would stop browbeating and harassing Ethan, and he’d easily learn how to fight and defeat a Luigi player—perhaps pick him up as his go-to fighter.  If she had to choose between Peach and her family, then she’d choose her family, full stop.

              Vanessa shuffled to a stop, breathing hard.  She withdrew her bottle and started gulping from it.  When she was finished, she put the bottle away, wiped her mouth, and cast a glance at the Smash Mansion.  She was lucky she wasn’t banned for life after the stunt she’d pulled alongside Steve; the man had taken the fall for her and was briefly suspended, yet his reputation remained intact.  Upon a second glance, she realized that the curtains to one of the rooms was open, revealing the figure of a man on a spin bike.

              Shielding her eyes against the sun, Vanessa studied the man.  He appeared to be pedaling briskly, hands tightly gripping the bike handles, body gently weaving to and fro.  She couldn’t see his face from this distance, but she saw that he was wearing a green hat on his head and what looked like navy overalls.  Her breath caught in her throat—she suddenly recognized the guy!  Could he see her?  Did he recognize her from their little chat outside of MH’s office?  Did he know or suspect that she was scheming against him?

              Vanessa wasn’t really sure if she wanted to find out.

**1.1.1**

              Luigi couldn’t really see Vanessa, of course, but he saw the tiny dot standing on the trail, staring curiously up at him.  He wasn’t really paying attention, but if he was, he wouldn’t have minded.  His room was among those which overlooked that running trail, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw people running past his window, some of them waving hello as they flew by.

              Currently, he was in the leg of his workout where he’d finished warming up and he was starting to build up the intensity.  He cranked up the resistance on the bike, relishing the feeling of his legs pushing against the weight.  A thin film of sweat coated him, his breathing brisk but not hard, and if someone talked to him right now, then he’d still be able to carry on a conversation.  But not for long.

              He put on a playlist of 80s hits and began to focus his gaze on the first point he saw, which just so happened to be the jogger staring at him.  He began adding speed and resistance, watching the jogger watch him, beginning to notice certain aspects of the jogger.  The jogger was a woman in her mid-to-late 30s, wearing peach-colored shorts and a sports bra, earbuds plugged in.  She seemed very interested in him working out, and who could blame her?  His green shirt was casually tossed on the bed behind him, and he was just clad in his cap, gloves, coveralls, socks and boots, the afternoon sun casting its rays on his skin.  But he also sensed something else.  There was an air of—guilt—about her.  What was she feeling guilty about—watching a man who was already spoken for work up a sweat on his spin bike?  It wasn’t like she was the only one.  Or maybe she was becoming lost in thought, and the guilt had nothing to do with him.  Who could tell?

              Eventually, the jogger stretched out her legs and continued on her way, and Luigi continued with his workout, letting the sensations of various muscles working and his pumping blood and the music seeping through his earbuds swamp out everything else.  He was a few paces away from a sprint now, so he added more resistance till he was breathing less out of his nose and more out of his mouth.  At this point, sweat started beading on his face, neck, arms, shoulders and chest, the skin flushing to a pink color.  He set his jaw and kept with it, fighting the urge to take off resistance and putting more on instead.  It wasn’t long before the breath was whistling fiercely from his lips and the perspiration started flying, rolling down his back, forking down his arms, seeping beneath his overalls and collecting on the floor.  And it was here where his feelings toward Master Hand and Falco started to simmer.

              What kind of godlike being bent the knee to a gang of salty complainants?  Did MH even consider what Luigi had to say during his interview?  Did Falco convince him to side with him?  The bird seemed to give up on their friendship after realizing that buying him stuff wasn’t going to do the trick.  Should he try again?  Was Falco cooled off and more willing to listen?  He agreed with his brother and seriously doubted it.

              Another thing, he didn’t have proof that MH was going to nerf him, all he had were conjectures.  But who’s also to say that he wasn’t going to nerf Luigi?  Was it all just a show to appease the salty contingent, or was there really a patch on the way?  The man in green didn’t know what to think of MH right now, except that he was pretty d—n gullible for someone who was supposed to be in charge of a huge fighting tournament.  He reflected on the interview between them.  The glove had listened to him as he vented and probably took that into account when he met with the suits.  But from what his gut was telling him, his down throw was still going to be affected.

              His mind returned to Falco and that night in the restaurant.  Falco had straight-up conceded that what he did was wrong.  But then again, maybe he’d just said what Luigi wanted to hear, hoping it would mean a free ride.  And then he bailed when he realized that it wasn’t going to be the case.  The avian was a stranger to him now; he couldn’t get through to him, no matter how hard he tried.  He piled on some more resistance until the only things on his mind were his breathing and his muscles and the sensation and his sweat.

              It went on like this for fifteen minutes before he registered low voices in the hallway.  One of them he recognized as Master Hand.

              _What does he want?_  He thought.

              “He’s exercising right now.  Maybe you can wait until later…” said another voice, high and cheery.  That was Lauren, the Mii in the Mario cap.

              “This is no time to leave words unsaid,” said MH before knocking on Luigi’s door.  “Luigi?  A word, please?”

              “I’m sorry, L!” called Lauren.  “I tried to stop him.  I told him you were not to be disturbed at this hour…”

              Luigi slowed his pace on the bike but didn’t stop.  “That’s okay, Lauren,” he panted.  “Let him in.”

              He heard the doorknob turn, one click as the door opened and another click as it closed.  MH floated toward Luigi until he was hovered beside him, the plumber gazing at him out of his peripheral vision.

              “Is everything all right, Master Hand?” Luigi asked in a formally polite tone.

              “Luigi, you and Mario haven’t spoken to me since I got back from my meeting with the suits,” MH said softly.

              “Yeah, what about it?”  Still pedaling, Luigi turned to look at MH.

              “I’m concerned because you’re acting like it’s personal.  I have nothing personal against you, L.”

              “That’s what you think this is about?” asked Luigi.  “There is no personal vendetta between us, Master Hand.  This is about how you let everyone convince you that I’m overpowered.”

              “L, I listened to all sides of the story.  I agree that some of the complainants, especially Falco, were out of line.  But when multiple people bring the same issue to my attention, isn’t it my job to address it?”

              “Of course.”

              “If I hadn’t met with the suits, then I wouldn’t have done my job, right?”

              “Right.  Because you have to make everything fair and balanced, don’t you…?”

              “Watch your tone, Luigi.  I get that you’re shaken by this turn of events, but don’t bite the hand that’s feeding you.”

              “You really think my down throw is an issue, MH?”

              MH sighed.  “This is not about what I think  It’s about what my Smashers and the gamers think.”

              “I’m a Smasher, too, and so is Mario.  What about what we think?”

              “Of course, I took you both into account.  And second of all, you could be overreacting about this.  Whatever changes affect your combos could be minor, or none at all.”

              “I get it, Master Hand.  Honestly, I do.  To keep this tournament floating, changes must occasionally be made.  But over this past month, I’ve listened to so many people scream and rant over my combos.  Responding to surveys and the like is one thing.  But my opponents—most of them—were very hostile and bullying toward you, and to me it feels like you submitted to them.  A being as powerful as you could’ve stood up to them, but instead you kowtowed and decided to waste everyone’s time with an update patch.”

              “Waste everyone’s time?  You suggested some good ideas for stages, like Super Mario Maker.”

              Luigi turned his head back toward his window, gripping the handles of his spin bike tightly and starting to pedal faster.  “You know what I’m talking about, Master Hand.”

              MH saw the expression on the plumber’s sweaty face and understood.  “You think something foul is at play,” he gasped.  “What do you think it is?”

              “To nerf my down throw so I won’t have those combos anymore.  Enough ill has been spoken of it.”  He leaned slightly out of the spin bike’s seat, kicking up the resistance, pushing the limits of his major muscle groups.

              “I know for a fact that your combos aren’t the only things you rely on.  You still have your special moves, and so far, nothing’s been said about them.”

              “Those have existed before my down throw became so versatile,” Luigi told him.  “This is more than my down throw and its combos.”

              MH took a sweat towel and lightly dabbed at the man in green’s forehead, so the perspiration wouldn’t get in his eyes.  Luigi quietly thanked him as he continued with his workout.

              “You really think this is personal?” MH asked.

              Luigi threw him a disbelieving look.  “Master Hand, you _are_ blind,” he said.  “During the first tournament, I took a lot of [ _bleep_ ] for being in last place.  I took a lot of criticism over my year.  And now this.  According to them, I don’t deserve any advantage in Smash because—well, you know.”

              “I see,” MH whispered.

              “Do you?  It’s been under your nose for years, and yet you’ve chosen to ignore it,” Luigi told him.

              “They even explicitly mentioned it during their rants.”

              “L—I don’t think that at all.”

              “Well—it’s like what you said, it’s not about what you think.  It’s about what they think.”  Luigi was staring out the window again, lunging into his cycling.  “Have you talked to Mario yet?”

              “He’s still recovering from yesterday.  I don’t want to spring this upon him just yet.”

              Luigi let out a breath.  “So,” he said.  “You kind of get the gist of why we’re so upset right now?”

              “Yes.  I do.  Just—don’t hate me, all right.”

              Luigi cracked a small smile.  “I don’t hate you.  I—just don’t see you the same way.”

              “We may be in choppy waters right now, but I promise you, your standing in this tournament is going to be fine.”  MH patted Luigi on the shoulder and floated toward the door.  However, he stopped and swiveled back around to face the plumber’s glistening back.  “Oh, and Luigi…” he began.

              But Luigi had returned his concentration to his workout, turning up his music to drown the voice of the Hand of Creation.

**1.1.1**

Night fell, and all was business as usual for the conspirators of Project Nerf.  Tonight, they were meeting at Theo and Vanessa’s place.  The two hosts had plenty of cider and cookies ready, and everyone lounged around on sofas, cushions and ottomans, draping themselves with warm blankets and comforters and listening to soft rock as they waited for everyone to arrive.

              Vanessa smiled as she looked over the now-crowded living room.  “Is that everyone?” she asked.

              Anna peeked out of the window.  “Mr. Sakurai is here!” she announced.

              The family of four rushed to their big, comfy couch and rolled out the bottom to convert it to a queen-sized bed.  After dusting it off, they made it up with a freshly clean set of linen and heaped on several down pillows and a comforter.  By the time Sakurai and his team walked through the door, the bed was ready.

              “Make yourself comfortable,” said Vanessa as she took their coats, inviting them to take off their shoes and relax on the bed.

              “Soft down,” said Sakurai.  “You really know how to spoil us, don’t you?”

              “We wouldn’t be at this point if it weren’t for you?” said Vanessa.

              Theo appeared then.  “Champagne?” he offered, holding up a bottle.

              “Don’t mind if we do,” said Sakurai.

              In no time at all, the suits were reclined on the bed, going over their notes as they sipped their champagne.

              “All right,” said Sakurai.  “Now that we’re all here, let’s get down to tonight’s business.”

              “We’re missing one,” Roy piped up.

              Sure enough, one of the sofas was vacant.

              “It’s Koopa,” said Dark Pit.  “He hasn’t showed up yet.”

              “Where could he be?” asked Sakurai.

              “I’ve called him twice,” said Vince.  “Answering machine picked up.”

              “I hope he’s okay,” said Chase.  “Yesterday was pretty hard on him.”

              Grumbles of sympathy.

              “He’ll get over it,” said Marth.  “He has to let off some steam first, but he’ll get over it.”

              “If he has to call in sick, let him call in sick,” Sakurai said amiably.  “I’ll just call him in the morning.”

              “Mr. S, I don’t think you wanna do that,” cautioned Stevie.  “Someone could trace that call, and by someone I mean…”

              Vanessa laptop chirped.

              “I’ll go see who that is,” said the young woman, scurrying over to the device, flipping it open and answering the Skype call.

              “Evening, everyone,” Koopa’s voice greeted.

              “Hey!” cried Vanessa.  “Is everything all right?  The BBs are worried sick!”

              “I’ll live,” chuckled Koopa.  “Can everyone hear me?”

              “Loud and clear,” said Sakurai as Vanessa positioned her laptop to allow her guests to see Koopa’s face.

              “I’ve tried to call you,” said Vince.  “Where in God’s name have you been?”

              “Just here in my castle,” smirked Koopa, and that was when everyone noticed the familiar décor in the background.  “Had some urgent business to attend to.”  He took a drink from a large goblet of wine.

              “Urgent business, my foot!” snapped Vince as the realization slowly closed over him.  “You’re getting your revenge on that plumber, aren’t you?”

              Vanessa paled.  “Oh, my God, Koopa.  You didn’t,” she gasped.

              “Why are you all looking at me like that?  I have every right to be upset with him!” Koopa stated defensively.  “He made a laughingstock of me on national television!”

              “Hey, c’mon!” Theo chimed in.  “This is your archenemy, your worthy opponent!  It’s not like…”

              “I know, I know!” huffed Koopa.

              “This is no time for your bi-weekly grudge match!” admonished Vince.  “This is far more important!”

              “I can multitask,” scoffed Koopa.  “Hence why I’m Skyping with you guys!”

              “Is—is she within earshot of you?” asked Shane.

              “Yes, I’m completely stupid!” Koopa said sarcastically.  “Of course she’s not within earshot!  She’s in a room of her own!  Do you really think I’m that disorganized?  Thanks a lot!”

              Silence.  Then, Kyle piped up, “I thought you put her in a cage.”

              More silence.  Koopa flushed deep red.

              “Maybe she’s in a cage, maybe she isn’t.  What’s the big deal, anyway?”

              Vanessa was turning green.

              “Look, we’re not gonna get found out.  I’m totally discreet.  When they get here, they won’t suspect a thing.”

              “If they do already,” shuddered Falco.

              “Hey, birdie!  Think positive, will ya?” Koopa said jauntily.  “So, what’s on the agenda for this evening?”

              “We’re going to finish finalizing the patch details,” said Sakurai.  “Tomorrow night, we’re going to start organizing our portfolio.  Hopefully, your—situation—won’t cause that big of a delay.”

              “Hey, wait a minute,” said Koopa.  “You can all meet at my castle sometime!  I have lots of snacks and guestrooms!  I’ll put you up in style!”

              “You can’t be serious,” said Manny.  “Are you unaware of the risks that will present?”

              “I certainly am aware.  I’ve taught myself to anticipate a breach at any time.  That’s why I’ve put contingency and evacuation procedures in place.  C’mon—live a little!”

              “Koopa—I like your style,” said Sakurai.  “We should absolutely spend tomorrow night in your castle.”

              “I’ve always wanted to check that place out,” said Ethan.  “Can we, Mom?  Please?”

              “Pretty please?” Anna chimed in.

              “Yeah, Vince—let’s loosen up!” entreated Shane.

              Faced with the baby of the bunch, Vince and Manny gave in.

              “Okay, fine,” said Vince.  “We’ll meet at Koopa’s castle tomorrow night.”

              Ethan and Anna cheered.  Vanessa beamed.

              “There won’t be much left to do anyway,” said Falco.  “I’m totally up with chilling at your place, Koopa.”

              “All right, that’s the spirit,” guffawed Koopa.  “I’ll start making the arrangements.”

              “Is she okay?” Vanessa suddenly asked.

              “Beg pardon?” asked Koopa.

              “Peach—is she okay?”

              Koopa grinned wryly.  “Ah, she’ll be fine.  I’m giving her the royal treatment tonight.”  He waggled his eyebrows, and everyone gasped.

              “I knew it!” hissed Marth.

              “What?   You really think I’d confine her to a cage for hours with absolutely no company?  Just how cruel do you think I am?”

              “You’re not that bad of a guy,” said Theo.

              “This coming from a Mario fan?”

              “I tend to keep an open mind,” winked Theo.

              “Well, I sure do appreciate that,” said Koopa.

              Sakurai booted up his computer as his bodyguards distributed fresh copies of the patch notes to the conspirators.

              “No need to email me, Mr. S,” said Koopa.  “I have my own hard copy.”

              “Good to know,” said Sakurai.  “And now that the drama is over, let’s start wrapping up Project Nerf!”

              And so they did.

               
**84 Hours Remain**             


	29. T Minus 3 Days

**72 Hours Remain**

              Koopa slowly rolled over in his bed as his alarm clock went off and reached a clawed, meaty hand over to silence it.  His muscles protested when he dragged himself out of the comfy bed and into a nice, cold shower.  He ached everywhere, but that was one of the side effects of settling his “grudge match”, as Vince had called it.  The Koopa King preferred to call it his hobby.  The aches, the bruises—they were worth it just to make that plumber tick.

              The pain had mostly abated after the shower.  After carefully drying himself off, his personal attendants came over to give him a massage, wax his shell and tend to his claws.  Once that was done, he ran a brush through his tuft of red hair and was out the door.

              Koopa sauntered down the hall toward the cafeteria.  Huevos rancheros and hash browns were on the menu this morning, and he needed his fuel after last night.  Ignoring the deathly glares around him, the turtle heaped up his plate and plunked himself down in the courtyard outside to eat.

              Falco and Rolf were also seated outside, enjoying the cool early morning.  The avian’s head turned when he saw Koopa sit at a table by himself and dig in to a heaping mountain of huevos rancheros.  “Hey,” he called.

              “Yeah?” said Koopa.

              “Come sit with us.  We won’t bite.”

              Smiling, Koopa grabbed his food and utensils and moved over to Falco and Rolf’s table.

              “How’d it go?” asked Rolf.

              “The usual,” eyerolled Koopa.  “He got his Peach back, and everyone was happy.”

              “That’s two days in a row,” said Falco.

              “At least I got even,” grinned Koopa.  “Last night was different than Friday, because outside of the Smash battlefield, anything goes.”

              “The BBs are right about one thing, though,” said Rolf.  “One false move would’ve blown Project Nerf out of the water.”

              “Thank God the precautions worked, then,” Koopa said smartly.  “As a matter of fact, I’m doing it again—tonight.”

              “ _What_?!” hissed Falco.

              “Why?” added Rolf.

              “Usually, I wait a month or so, but Friday’s match got me riled up,” Koopa explained.

              “You just want an excuse to try out your little contingency plan,” said Rolf.

              “All the more reason to d—k with those pesky plumbers,” chortled Koopa.

              “Don’t let them hear that,” cautioned Rolf.

              Falco shuddered.  “They’re already upset at you as it is.”

              “It’s my job to upset them.  Keeps them on their toes.  Maintains the balance of the universe.  They won’t suspect a thing, as always.”

              “At this point, I would’ve just quit,” Falco said frankly.

              “Once I get my mind set on a prosperous kingdom and a beautiful woman, there’s nothing that’s gonna stop me,” said Koopa.

              “Wow,” said Falco, shaking his head.

              Koopa wolfed down the last of his breakfast.  “Welp,” he said, “I gotta get everything ready.  See you in my castle tonight.”

              “See ya,” Rolf and Falco said in unison.

              Koopa gave them a final wink and lumbered off.

              “I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Falco whispered to Rolf.  “I really hope that turtle knows what he’s doing.”

**1.1.1**

              “You’re doing _what_?” Vince barked to Koopa over the phone.  “You mean to tell me you’re having the Princess over the very night we’re assembling for a meeting?!  You’re mad!”

              “Thank goodness for that,” snickered Koopa, “because if I wasn’t this would probably never work.”

              “You need to get your priorities straight,” said Vince.  “You signed on to Project Nerf, and now it’s your duty to see it to the end!”

              “Well, we _are_ at the end.  I thought that we’re only putting the portfolio together tonight.”

              “We’re starting that.  We need to make copies, pick the right folder, compose the cover sheet, get it bound, and most importantly, we need to destroy all of the evidence of our involvement!  Making the portfolio is the easiest part, but getting rid of the evidence is going to take two days at least!”

              “Hey, chillax,” said Koopa.  “I’m a multitasker.  My minions and generals will help me dispose of anything incriminatory.  There’s really nothing to worry about.”

              “If those two come to get her,” said Vince, “what if they walk in on us?  I’m telling you, your—hobby—is opening up a can of worms!”

              “Don’t worry about those plumber,” said Koopa.  “I’ll handle them the usual way.  The rest of you will be hidden away in the guestrooms I’ve prepared.  I’m sorry, Vince, but this is an itch I’ve just got to scratch.”

              A sigh from Vince.  “All right, fine,” he said.  “Just don’t come crying to me if something happens.”

              “I should be so lucky,” smirked Koopa before hanging up.

**1.1.1**

              “I have a bad feeling about this,” said Crazy Hand when Falco told him of Koopa’s plans.  “I’ve seen Mario around.  He doesn’t look like he’s in a good mood.  Doing this twice in a row is pushing it.”

              “Yeah, well, he’s king, so he can do what he wants,” shrugged Falco.  “Even the BBs can’t stop him.  He wants Peach, and he’ll do anything to have her.”  He paused.  “You coming?”

              “As much as I’d like to see the fireworks, I can’t afford to take that risk,” said Crazy Hand, “but that’ll give me time to start clearing out the evidence.”

              “There’s also the chance that Peach will escape and start snooping around,” said Falco.  “What then?”

              “Knowing Koopa, I know he’s not about to let _that_ happen,” said CH.

              “If that turtle brings Mario’s rage down on all of us, I’m going to be so p—ed at him,” growled Falco.  “I sure hope he knows what he’s doing.”

              “If he doesn’t, then why would he be doing it?” questioned CH.

              Falco didn’t have an answer to that.

              CH rubbed the avian’s shoulders.  “Project Nerf isn’t without its risks.  When you signed on, you agreed to assume those risks.”

              “That’s right,” said Falco.  “I did.  And there’s no way I’m backing out so late in the game.”

              “It’s too late to back out, anyway,” mused CH, “but I like your spirit.  Have fun in the castle tonight, okay?  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

              “Sorry you can’t come with us,” Falco said softly.

              “Maybe some other time,” winked CH.

              Falco grinned like a fool as he walked out of CH’s office.

**1.1.1**

**60 Hours Remain**

              “Welcome aboard,” said Koopa as he helped Vanessa and her family board his airship.

              “Thanks,” said Vanessa.  “Where’s the guest of honor?  Is she okay?”

              “No worries!” laughed Koopa.  “She’s in my cabin, being well tended to.”

              “King Koopa, this is tight!” exclaimed Ethan.  “I’m actually on your airship!”

              “You bet!” said Koopa.

              “I used to struggle with the airship levels all the time,” Ethan went on.

              “It’s kinda scary,” Anna confessed.

              “Hey, don’t worry,” Koopa cooed.  “I won’t bite you.  Allow me to show you to your quarters.”

              The Koopa King led them to a family-sized cabin with two rooms, one for the parents and one for the kids.  Theo and Vanessa’s room had an oval-shaped king bed and a Jacuzzi, and Ethan and Anna’s room had two twin beds.  There was also a dresser, a flatscreen TV, a refrigerator and a snack bar in each room.  Each even had their separate bathrooms!

              “Whoa,” the family of four said in unison.

              A green-shelled Koopa Troopa tottered over to them with a bottle of moscato on ice.

              “Could you put that on the dresser, please?” asked Theo.

              “Sure,” beamed the Koopa Troopa as he did just that.

              Laughing, Ethan and Anna raced into their side of the cabin, excitedly hopping on their beds.

              “Kids,” admonished Vanessa.  “Remember that we are guests here.”

              The two promptly clammed up.  “Thank you, Your Highness,” chirped Anna.

              “Your welcome,” said Koopa.  “I have to see about the other passengers.  Give me a holler if you need anything.”

              On those words, Mario’s archenemy left the family to settle in.

              Falco was the next to board.  “Sweet ride you’ve got here,” he said as Koopa gave him a hand.

              “Thanks.  I’m glad you could make it.”

              “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Falco said truthfully.

              “Now that’s what I like to hear,” said Koopa.  “You’re going to be staying right over—here.”

              Koopa directed the avian to a modest-sized cabin, which could fairly be described as business-class.  A queen-sized bed, room service, flat-screen TV and on demand service, and a Jacuzzi, among other amenities.

              “This journey’s going to take that long?” asked Falco.

              “You might get a little tired along the way, and you’ll probably want to be well-rested when we get to the castle.”

              Falco pursed his lips.  “Makes sense.”

              He casually flopped onto the bed.  “Thanks, man.  I can hang here.”

              Koopa next received Marth and Roy.  “I’ve got just the room for you,” he said.

              Their cabin had a heart-shaped King bed, champagne with two glasses, chocolates, mood lighting, a music player and magazines and DVDs.

              “That’s very thoughtful of you, Your Majesty,” said Marth.  “Thank you.”

              “Yeah,” Roy put in.  “This is awesome!”

              Koopa politely closed the door as the couple embraced.

              The accommodations for Mewtwo, Dark Pit, Kyle and the rest of the conspirators were all luxurious in their own right, but were pretty standard compared to the rooms prepared for the Bennigan Brothers.  Home theaters, Wii U consoles, a full bar, a pool as well as a Jacuzzi, a billiards room and a karaoke machine!  It was Koopa’s own way of apologizing for the inconveniences he may have caused them.

              “Aw—you didn’t have to do this,” said Vince, “but you’re really after our hearts.  All is forgiven, your Highness.”

              “That’s good to know,” said Koopa.  “I have to make a brief stop to pick up Sakurai and Co., and then, we’ll be underway.”

              “Good plan,” said Shane.

              Putting on his captain’s hat, Koopa took the helm of his airship and skillfully glided her into the sky, headed for Sakurai’s manor.  The trip took about half an hour, during which the Koopa Troopas were preparing Sakurai’s room.

              Sakurai was already waiting when Koopa’s airship pulled up to his front lawn.  The gangway lowered, and a Red Shell and a Green Shell personally escorted Smash’s financier aboard.  The rest of Koopa’s minions were lined up at attention on the deck, shaking Sakurai’s hand as he greeted them.  Koopa himself stood in a captain’s full dress uniform.  “Welcome aboard, Mr. Sakurai,” he said.  “Your quarters are ready for you.”

              Sakurai’s room was a palace!  A canopy bed that could fit eighteen.  An enormous hot tub.  A veranda with a balcony.  A library.  A smoothie-maker.  Even a gym.  The Koopa King had really outdone himself!

              “Wow,” was all Sakurai could say.

              “I know, right?  It’s fit for a king,” chuckled Koopa.  “Go ahead and get settled in.  We’ll be underway in just a few moments.”

              He strode to the quarterdeck, where a team of Koopa Troopas had taken over the wheel.  “All right,” he said.  “Take her to the skies.  Let’s stretch her legs.”

              The decks came alive at once, the officers shouting directions to their underlings.  The magnificent airship began to lift off the ground, her propellers turning as her crew worked to give her fuel.  Passengers left their accommodations, making themselves comfortable along the railings, so as not to miss this magical moment.  The airship rose slowly at first, and then faster and faster as her power finally kicked in.  Sakurai’s house shrunk in size until it was but a dot in a mass of other dots.  The sensation was like being in an ascending elevator.  Higher and higher the airship went until she was just above the clouds, which looked light purple in the night sky.

              “This is your captain speaking,” Koopa said into the PA system.  “Welcome aboard my airship of the line, en route to Koopa Castle.  Please, read over the safety precautions and the emergency instruction booklet at this time.  For your safety, do not leave young children unattended.  Estimated arrival time to our destination is 4 hrs, 43 minutes.  I’ll let you know of any new developments.  But for now, sit back, relax and enjoy the journey.”

              And with that, the airship began to move forward, her sails billowing and her flags flying proudly.  Now, all of the passengers were crowded along the railing, taking selfies and drinking in the view.  Above the frosting-like layer of clouds, there was the moon, its light threading through clothes, skin and hair.  Ethan stood with his sister and his parents at the bow, arms spread wide, laughing as the airship cut through the chilly night air.

              “I’m king of the world!” he shouted.  “Whoo-hoo!”

              He slung Anna onto his hip, the two of them laughing gaily together.  They were on Koopa’s airship, for goodness sake.  That should give their classmates something to chew on.

              Koopa wore a big smile as he stood at the helm.  Sure, those pesky plumber were bound to ruin everything, but why not enjoy this while he still could?

**1.1.1**

              The airship reached Koopa Castle without incident.  After she docked, her passengers and crew disembarked, stumbling due to their “sea legs”.  Some Hammer Bros greeted them at the entrance, armed with trolleys for whatever luggage anyone brought along.  In short order, the guests were shown to their rooms and given 90 minutes to unpack and relax after such a long trip.

              After those 90 minutes, the conspirators of Project Nerf took their seats at a large conference table in the great hall of Koopa Castle.  Sakurai, Vince, Manny and Shane were seated closest to Koopa, the BBs passing around copies of the evening’s agenda.

              “Ladies and gentlemen,” Sakurai began.  “I now have the finalized version of the patch notes.  Tonight, we will begin organizing a portfolio to deliver to Master Hand, and most importantly, we will also begin to search and destroy every piece of evidence which links us to this project.”

              “Why not start destroying the evidence first?” asked an antsy Falco.  “The portfolio isn’t due until the end of the month, anyway.”

              “We need to get the portfolio in on the 29th, so the patch will go into effect on the 30th,” Sakurai explained.  “I understand that disposing of the evidence is a top priority for you, but there’s a specific way we need to compose this portfolio.”

              “What does that have to do with us?” asked Marth.  “You can make the portfolio while we get rid of the evidence.”

              “We could use an extra set of eyes, just like with the patch notes,” said Sakurai.

              “Oh,” said Marth.

              “Okay, the first thing that we need, obviously, is a white folder, like this one.”  Sakurai held up a thick, white folder long enough to hold a stack of full-sized paper.  “We don’t write anything on the folder yet, because it’s about to hold sensitive information.

              “The second thing we need are the patch notes.”  Sakurai placed the final draft of the patch notes on the table before him.  “As you can see, the font is 12-pt Times New Roman, with boldface headings, color-coded bullet points, sections pertaining to each fighter and 1.0 line spacing.  But that’s not the only thing that goes into the folder.”  He held up another sheet of paper.  “This is an introductory note I’ve written summarizing the update patch and thanking Master Hand for bringing these concerns to my attention.”

              One by one, his team members passed forward their own sheets of paper.  “I’ve instructed my colleagues to write short essays expressing their thoughts on the new patch and their hopes for this tournament’s future.  Those essays will be stacked in alphabetical order and placed on top of the patch notes.”

              The Bennigan Brothers arranged the essays as instructed and then neatly stacked them atop the notes.

              “Thank you,” said Sakurai.  “Now, my introductory letter will go on top of the essays.”  He placed his letter as described.  “And finally, we have the cover page.”  The cover page was simply titled “Super Smash Brothers Update Patch 1.1.1” and had the Smash insignia stamped on it.

              “Looks great,” said Shane.

              “Now,” said Sakurai as he flipped over the pile.  “I want you all to witness this.”

              He flipped up the last page of the patch notes, took his pen and signed his name on the bottom with a dramatic flourish.

              Everyone applauded.

              Vince wiped a tear from his eye.  “That’s our little baby,” he sniffled.

              Sakurai placed the stack of papers into the folder, and then stamped the word “Confidential” onto the front of the folder in red ink.  “I will deliver this to Master Hand in two days’ time.  Until then, I will store it in a safe location.”

              “I never thought I’d see this day,” said Manny, also tearing up.

              Sakurai beamed.  “Here’s to brighter days,” he said.

              “To brighter days,” replied Koopa.

              “To brighter days,” echoed the Bennigan Brothers.

              “To brighter days!” shouted everyone else.

**1.1.1**

              One hour later, Koopa Castle erupted in a frenzy.  Minions and conspirators alike frantically searched every nook and cranny for anything and everything which implicated the Koopa King as a member of Project Nerf.  Anything which raised even the slightest red flag was removed and dumped into a pile in the castle’s antechamber.  Phone records were shredded and dumped.  Reciepts from the restaurants and eateries where the conspirators met also counted as evidence.  Old notes and contact information, chat transcripts—they all had to go.  Once the entire castle had been searched, the pile of evidence was scooped into a large bin, which would be stored in an undisclosed location until the following night.

              “For your homework assignment,” said Sakurai, “you must search your own rooms, apartments, houses—anywhere you’ve been to this past month—top to bottom.  Any condemning evidence you find, put it in a bag with your name on it and bring it to me tomorrow night.  If anyone asks, just tell them you’re doing a little cleaning.”

              “I take it we’re doing something special with the evidence?” asked Kyle.

              Sakurai nodded.  “It wouldn’t be fair to conclude our little project without a little fanfare, am I right?”

              Chuckles.

              Koopa started to say something, but he was cut off by distant commotion.

              “What was that?” asked Sakurai, tensing up a bit.

              Koopa cursed under his breath.  “They got here earlier than I thought!” he hissed.

              Vince shot him a glare.  “I told you this was a bad idea!”

              “Take it easy, Vince,” said Shane.  “We finished everything on the agenda, didn’t we?”

              The conspirators began whispering among themselves.

              “Everybody relax!  Just relax!” Koopa whispered fiercely.

              “ _You_ relax!” snapped Falco.  “I’m on thin ice with both of them!”

              There was a crash.

              “Okay,” Koopa said tersely.  “Everyone up the stairs.  Let’s go.  Let’s move.”

              Koopa and his minions wasted no time herding the guests toward their rooms and out of harm’s way.  Hasty good-nights were exchanged before the conspirators darted into their overnight accomodations, quietly shutting the door behind them and locking it.  They swiftly changed into their night clothes before climbing into bed, laying perfectly still and listening hard.

              Vanessa could hear distant footsteps from where she lay, Ethan and Anna huddled in her arms.  She hoped they were simply headed in the direction of that familiar bridge, but then the footsteps grew louder…

              What were they doing?

              “Hello?” asked a muffled, accented voice.  “Is anyone there?”

              Vanessa held her breath.  Could they hear the beating of her heart?

              The footsteps and the voice drew closer, and they could hear a faint knocking, as well.  Vanessa really hoped they hadn’t been found out.  Silently, she hushed her children.

              “Hello?” the voice was at her door now.  “Vanessa?  Ethan?  Anna?  Theo?  Can you hear me?”

              “How did they…?” whispered Theo.

              Vanessa shushed him.  “Stay here,” she said before sliding out of bed and tiptoeing to the door.

              “Hey, Vanessa?” called the voice.

              Vanessa eased the door open a crack.  “Yes?” she asked.

              Mario stood there, pale and sweaty, a concerned look on his face.  “Are you guys all right?” he asked.

              “Yeah, we’re fine,” Vanessa assured him.

              She saw Luigi standing beside the man in red, also sweating.  “He didn’t…?”

              “We actually came of our own free will,” Vanessa said truthfully.

              “Why?” the Bros asked in tandem.

              “We thought that maybe we could find something beneficial to you,” explained Vanessa, “and Ethan wanted to help.  He feels very bad over his last interaction with you.”

              Mario nodded.  “I’m sure he does.”

              “I don’t know where he’s keeping her,” Vanessa told him.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t want him to suspect anything.”

              Luigi smiled at her.  “You did your best,” he assured her.  “Come on, let’s get you out of there.”  He offered his hand to the young woman.

              Vanessa looked down.  “Thank you for your concern, but we already made plans to sleep here overnight.”

              Mario blinked.  “You don’t want to be rescued?” he asked in confusion.

              “No, we’re fine,” Vanessa said disarmingly.  “We can handle that turtle.  Now go get him!  We believe in you!”

              The optimism put the two plumbers at ease.  “Thanks!” they said cheerfully before dashing off to confront their nemesis.

              Relieved, Vanessa climbed back into bed, and her kids felt soothed enough to hop into their own beds.  “Way too close,” she whispered, snuggling deeper into the soft pillows, the faraway sounds of the obligatory climactic battle sending her and her family off into the Land of Nod.


	30. T Minus 2 Days

**48 Hours Remain**

              Vanessa’s eyes blinked open to look at the LED display on the clock beside her.  It told her that it was morning, but if that was the case, then why was it still dark outside?

              Then, she remembered.  Koopa’s Castle was in the Dark Lands, which rarely got any sunlight.  Now, she started to understand why they needed to invade other places.  Without sunlight, they couldn’t grow food, which meant…

              She yawned, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched her limbs before sitting up.  Then, she reached to her dresser and palmed her Project Nerf identification card.  Leaning back on her pillow, she rubbed circles on the card with her thumb, becoming lost in thought.

              The image of the Mario Bros’ sweaty, apprehensive faces floated before her.  She remembered the tone of Mario’s voice when he asked if they were okay.  Most of all, she remembered Koopa’s booming laughter was the last sound she heard before sleep claimed her.  Over and over, she replayed the tidbits Peach confided to her during their lunch.  While Koopa was her ally in Project Nerf, Vanessa remembered that he was also considered a dangerous enemy, and seeing those looks on Mario and Luigi’s faces told her why.  Goose bumps crawled over her when she considered how Koopa was going to celebrate Project Nerf’s success.

              Beside her, Theo rolled over.  “Morning,” he mumbled.

              Vanessa smiled down at him.  “Morning,” she replied, stroking his hair.

              “Some night, huh?” asked Theo.

              Vanessa grinned wryly.  “I can’t believe I was considered a damsel in distress.”

              “At least we got to see them at work, however briefly,” chuckled Theo.  “What’s on your mind?”

              “When I answered the door, the Bros looked so frantic, and I can’t help but wonder why?”

              “Worried about Peach, I guess,” offered Theo.  “There’s no telling what Koopa does to her.”

              Vanessa couldn’t help but shudder.

              “What?  You have a clue?”

              “She told me something,” confessed Vanessa.  “I promised never to tell anyone else.  I don’t want to break that promise.”

              Theo blanched.  “You don’t have to say anything,” he told his wife.  He’d already figured it out.

              “If you were at his mercy,” he went on, “and I was searching for you, then I’d be a sweaty mess, maybe more than those plumbers.”

              “Aw, Theo,” cooed Vanessa, stroking Theo’s cheek.

              She placed her card back on the dresser.  As she turned back around, Theo tackled her and covered her with kisses.

              “Theo,” she giggled.  “The kids!”

              “They won’t wake up for another five minutes,” Theo assured her.  “Besides, they know not to interrupt our private time.  And Ethan’s starting to learn about it in his health class.”

              “Yeah, but what would Koopa think when Laundry Day rolls around?”

              Both of them laughed.

              “I guess we’ll have to try and not make a mess,” Theo said innocently.

              Vanessa laughed again, and the couple fell back into the sheets, kissing and groping and fumbling at clothes.

              Five minutes later, they lay in each other’s arms, flushed, sweaty and catching their breath.  Just as Vanessa suspected, Ethan and Anna began to stir on their side of the room.

              “Best five minutes ever,” sighed Vanessa.

              A knock on their door arrested their attention.  “Theo?  Vanessa?” asked Koopa’s voice.

              The two wrestled into their clothes and jammed their identification cards into the pockets of their pajama pants.

              “Yes?” asked Vanessa once they were fully clothed.

              Koopa stepped inside, carrying four bags on wire hangers.  “Top of the morning to you,” he greeted cheerfully.

              “Thank God you’re all right,” said Theo.

              “I was going to say the same about you,” said Koopa.  “Heard those plumbers got into your room last night.”

              “It was just a misunderstanding,” said Vanessa.  “They didn’t do anything to us.”

              “Of course not; that’s not their style,” said Koopa.  “What did you tell them?”

              “That we were invited guests, and that we hoped to use the invitation to our advantage,” replied Vanessa.  “We said nothing about Project Nerf.  They didn’t suspect a thing.”

              “I have some clothes for you,” said Koopa, indicating the hangers, “and fresh, hot breakfast is being served downstairs, if your interested.”

              “We have to get the kids to school,” said Theo.

              “Transportation has already been arranged for them, and we have someone taking you to your place of business, as well,” said Koopa.

              “Wow,” said Ethan.  “You’re really at the top of your game, aren’t you?”

              “I put you all in a dangerous situation last night.  I owe you.”

              “We were never in any danger.  They were genuinely worried about us,” said Vanessa.  “Speaking of which, how’d it go?”

              Koopa grimaced.  “Awfully,” he said.  “Vince was right; those plumber were p—ed!”

              “I can tell,” said Theo, just now noticing the bruises peppering their host.

              “Wait a minute—you fell in the lava, right?” asked Ethan.

              “As per usual.”

              “But—that—you should be…” gasped Ethan.

              “Well, I’m not,” smirked Koopa.

              “Oh, my God!  You regenerated, didn’t you?”

              Koopa wrinkled his nose.  “Regenerated?  What am I, Doctor Who?”

              “How else can…?”

              “Kamek just casts some magic on me, and I’m as good as new!” Koopa explained.

              “Oh,” said Ethan.  “I almost forgot about him.”

              “Best not worry about that too much,” said Koopa.  “All that matters is, everything turned out okay in the end.”

              Vanessa smiled politely.  “Thanks for letting us stay the night,” she said.

              “You’re welcome.  Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

              Koopa gave the family a nod before leaving.

**1.1.1**

              Downstairs, the conspirators helped themselves to eggs, potatoes, bacon and chocolate chip pancakes, along with pastries like cinnamon rolls, milk, juices and coffee.  Koopa really was compensating for last night, and it showed.  Even Vince forgot his irritation as he chowed down on the food.

              “Remember,” said Sakurai, “you all have a homework assignment today.”

              “Comb through our residences and places we’ve frequented this month, and gather all incriminating evidence,” said Manny.

              “We’ll get right on it, sir,” said Marth.

              “I’ll start on it,” said Vanessa, “but Ethan and Anna will be responsible for their own bedrooms when they’re finished with their homework, and Theo, when you get home from work, I trust that you’ll do your share, as well.”

              “Absolutely,” nodded Theo.

              “We need to look at our schedules,” said Falco, “but we’ll find time in between.”

              “I’m sure Crazy Hand will be around to help you,” said Sakurai.  “King Koopa, thank you for the meal and an adventurous stay at your castle.”

              “Not a problem,” said Koopa.  He rose from his seat.  “Now, all of those returning to the Smash World with me, please form a single-file line at Gate 1.  Ethan and Anna, I want you to proceed to Gate 2.  Theo, proceed to Gate 3.  Your airships should be up and running momentarily.”

              As the Smashers went to their assigned gates, Vanessa and Theo helped their kids with their lunches and backpacks.  “Have a great day at school!” Vanessa said brightly, giving her son and daughter a hug and kiss.

              “See you later, Mom!” they replied.

              Vanessa then kissed Theo.  “Have a lovely day at work,” she said.

              “I love you, babe,” smiled Theo.  “Bye, kids.”

              “Bye, Dad!”

              In short order, the airships received their passengers and gracefully took to the skies toward their destinations.

**1.1.1**

              Marth, Roy, Falco, Mewtwo, Dark Pit, Kyle and the other Smashers behind Project Nerf arrived at the Smash Mansion in record time.  After thanking Koopa for the ride, they dropped off their luggage in their rooms, showered and changed clothes.  Next, they relaxed for a few minutes before wandering off to check out the day’s matchup.

              As usual, Falco was the first to reach the bulletin board, his heart pounding as he found his name and skimmed a wing over the time-slots.  Neither Mario Brother was on the list, and that was a good thing.  Falco slumped in relief.

              Then, they all heard Koopa swear.

              “What is it?” they asked in unison.

              “I’m fighting them both!” Koopa exclaimed.  And sure enough, both Mario Bros were on his timeslot.  He wasn’t even getting a break in between—no, he was fighting them one after the other.  They must’ve said a few words to Master Hand regarding the stunt he pulled last night.

              “You’re fighting Mario first,” said Marth.  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

              Koopa groaned.  “I don’t know, either!”

              “At least Mario doesn’t have those combos,” offered Chase.

              “Not THE combos,” Koopa corrected him, “but he does have combos, especially with that u-tilt.  And the Dunk—dear God, the Dunk!”

              “Just be thankful you’re not fighting Peach, as well,” quipped Stevie.  “She’s probably resting, given that she was ‘in another castle’ twice in a row.”

              “Hey,” Dark Pit assured the hulking reptile, “we’ll cheer you on, okay?”

              “Probably won’t do anything,” opined Koopa, “but thank you.”

              “Remember something when you fight Luigi, though,” said Falco.  “Two more days.  Two more days, and it’s sweet freedom.”

              “Right.  Gotta think positive,” said Koopa.  “I’d better get some practice.”

              Distractedly, he excused himself and made a beeline for the Training Room.

              “Oh, great,” moaned Stevie.  “I’m fighting them both, too.”

**1.1.1**

              Though he wouldn’t be fighting them today, Falco knew that the Mario Bros’ moods would be far from sunny.  Koopa had put them through the same crap for two consecutive nights!  Maybe they’d grab a nap before preparing for their respective matches against their rival, but the mere fact that Koopa did this out of pure spite would serve to keep them sufficiently inflamed.

              That being said, Falco saw the storm signals whenever he came across the Bros in the cafeteria or the lounge and wisely made himself scarce.  Maybe after bruising up the big guy some more, they’d cool off and be approachable.  He was currently re-thinking Chad’s words; maybe he _should_ sit down and talk with them.  He wouldn’t push them into forgiving him, but he’d at least get them to hear him out.  After the events of last night, laying in a guestroom of Koopa Castle and listening in on the big showdown, he realized that those two had enough on their plates and that he couldn’t afford to leave things unsaid.

              But then his thoughts went back to the nightmare he’d had four days ago.  To Mario, Falco would always be the enemy.  But Luigi—maybe he’d have better luck with him.

              All through the morning, Falco fought his matches, won some and lost the rest, and then recharged in his room, watching TV.  Koopa’s first big fight would be at around 3:30p.m.  Thank goodness MH gave him a brief break before he’d fight Luigi.  But Falco also remembered his “homework assignment” from Sakurai.  He needed to search his room top to bottom for any evidence.

              Hopping out of his bed, Falco locked his door, drew his shades, put on his music, and got down to business.  He searched under his mattress.  Rummaged through all of his drawers.  Poked around in all of his cabinets.  He even searched his closet and his wastebasket.  Per the instructions, he piled everything he found into a plain, plastic bag and closed it tightly.  Then, he washed his hands, jumped onto his computer and deleted the emails, files and chat transcripts which would link him to Project Nerf.  As an added precaution, he also emptied his Recycle Bin.  Once the avian was satisfied, he tossed the plastic bag into his closet and settled back into bed.  He still had some time to kill before his next match.

              His fellow conspirators were hard at work, as well.  Drawers were emptied, beds were stripped, closets were cleaned.  Plastic bags began filling at an amazing rate.  Every crack and orifice where evidence could be stored, every crawlspace, was no exception to the rule.  Marth and Roy got their regal getup a little dirty, and the two Steves messed up their wrestling singlets, but that didn’t matter anymore.  Everything had to go!

              Vanessa was also hard at work, but as promised, she left about half of the evidence behind for her kids and husband to tend to later.  She received, and was thankful for, help from her neighbors and her book club.  Her radio was tuned to a Top 40 station, and she pranced around her living room in nothing but a sleeveless top and panties after her helpers left.  She was on cloud nine right now, and no fleeting worries or concerns were about to bring her down!

              Ethan and Anna came home from school psyched and ready to work.  Vanessa had to remind them that their homework came before anything else.  Once their homework was done, the kids spent the rest of the afternoon in their rooms, armed with Glad bags, pretending to go on a treasure hunt to make the affair even more exciting.  They finished up with five bags apiece, and after showing off their findings to Vanessa, she allowed them to play until Theo came home.

              When Theo arrived, the first thing he did was take a shower.  Then, he did his share of the cleaning while the kids showered.  He whistled a tune to himself as he worked, double checking his man-cave for good measure.  Together, the family heaped their bags into the backseat of the car, and as a reward for their diligent work, ordered a large pizza.  After dinner, they found some pastime to engage in before it was time to head to the final meeting of Project Nerf.

**1.1.1**

              The other conspirators, however, still had some work to do.  In between matches, they dashed to Chuck-E-Cheese’s, Hot Topic, Waluigi’s Taco Stand, the library and the other restaurants and locales they’d been to, scooping up every tidbit of evidence they could get their hands on.  Koopa was on the phone, barking orders to his generals and allies, having them purge their fortresses of incriminating evidence and send the bags to him.  They also temporarily deleted their accounts on the secret website until the dust from the update patch settled.  Friends and loved ones also reached out to help, and by the time Koopa’s bout with Mario rolled around, they’d amassed a small pile of plastic bags.  Crazy Hand loaded these bags into a pickup truck, which was parked in a secret garage.  Then, they decided to take a breather, once again changed into clean clothes and filed into the stands to cheer on their ally.  This match would take place on none other than Final Destination.  A simple stage allowing the man in red to clobber his nemesis to his heart’s content.

**1.1.1**

              After some contemplation, Theo and Vanessa decided to wear their Mario getup to the bout.  They felt like they owed it to the man in red, him looking out for them and all.  They hoped Koopa and their fellow conspirators would understand.

              About three quarters of the spectators that afternoon were dressed as Mario.  Word had gotten out about the stunt his archenemy pulled, and they wanted nothing more than to see the iconic plumber beat that turtle’s tail to kingdom come.  And by God, he delivered!  It was absolutely delicious.  Five minutes of glorious payback.  Koopa’s fellow conspirators were grossly outnumbered by the masses of Mario’s fans, happily shouting down to the little man and booing that dastardly reptile.  Even Vanessa and her family—while it was true that they were involved in a scheme with Koopa, they always came down on Mario’s side, no matter what.  Because they knew in their hearts that it was the right side.

              Mario wanted to wear his nemesis down, but he decided to save most of that for Luigi.  After all, his younger brother had something special up his sleeve.  A cold smile was on his face as he dunked Koopa one last time, doing his trademark strongman pose for the crowd.  There was a small interval before Luigi had a go at that turtle, and Mario used it to freshen up and grab a class of water.  Watching Luigi take Koopa on would satisfy him more than actually fighting him.

              Red and blue was soon replaced with green and blue, Koopa’s allies braving what would arguably be a combo-fest for his sake.  And indeed, Luigi showed up, calm fury on his face and loaded for bear.  He showed significantly more caution than usual—a sure sign that he was _very_ angry and _very_ upset.  Koopa’s handful of allies took the hint and kept the vitriol over those combos at a minimum.  And besides, how could they fume over them with their death warrant had been drawn up?

              From start to finish, Luigi gave no quarter.  Koopa didn’t deserve any, not after what he did last night and the night before then!  He launched into a display of his best combos, one after the other, until he ran out of breath, whereupon he’d throw fireballs and heavy punches and kicks, and then start the whole process all over again.  It didn’t take long for him to be bathed in a thick lather of sweat, twinkling among the ambiance of Final Destination.  He’d simply shake droplets of it from his eyes and keep right at it, keeping his anger carefully controlled.  There were those lengthy mix-ups he liked to do, mix-ups which kept his respirations at a fairly measured pace.  Those who walked in to witness a heaping helping of karma be served up to a despicable villain weren’t disappointed.

              It got to the point that several Miis had to pull Luigi away once the match had been called.  Mario drank in the end result.  His arch nemesis now had a very ugly black eye, some missing teeth, a busted snout, the other eye completely swollen shut and a face and underbelly scored with bruises and contusions.  He wouldn’t cause any more headaches for a very long time!

              “Welp,” said Chase.  “That went well.”

**1.1.1**

**36 Hours Remain**

The pickup truck full of plastic bags rolled down the freeway, escorted by a V-formation of motorcycles.  Behind the wheel was Jeff, one of Sakurai’s best drivers, utilizing his driving skills to get his cargo to its destination safely.  Following the pickup was a bus, carrying the men and women behind Project Nerf to their final get-together.

              Koopa sat toward the back, nursing his wounds.

              “No offense, but you kinda deserved that,” Theo was saying.

              “You _did_ take the woman Mario loves,” added Vanessa.

              “That’s what they always say,” growled Koopa.

              “I mean, how many times are you going to do that until you realize that she doesn’t want you?” Vanessa demanded of the turtle.

              “I just don’t see why she prefers that plumber over me,” huffed Koopa.

              “He’s handsome—in his own way.  Maybe it’s the goodness she sees inside,” offered Vanessa, in a softer tone.

              “Gee, you’re breaking my heart,” Koopa said to her.

              “Have you ever tried something other than raiding, pillaging and plundering?” asked Anna.

              “I’m a villain!  That’s what I’m _supposed_ to do!”

              “Okay, then—have you ever tried _not_ being a villain?” pressed Anna.

              “Not being a villain…?” spluttered the flustered Koopa.  “I’m not a villain all the time!  We go kart-racing and play sports.  When more dangerous villains came knocking, I helped those plumbers defeat them.  Because, you know, they’ve grown on me, despite hindering my plans and all.”

              “Your Highness,” said Vanessa, “I think what Anna is trying to say is—have you ever considered cutting the MK some slack?  It’s a place the Bros have grown to love, and your antagonizing it rubs them the wrong way.”

              “I have a better question,” said Koopa.  “Have you ever been butt-slammed by a man in green and comboed until you P—ED! BLOOD?!”

              Vanessa and Theo swiftly covered their children’s ears, protecting their innocent minds from the mature word.

              “Uh—sorry,” Koopa said sheepishly.

              “I don’t see what that has to do with any of this,” Theo said finally.  “When the nerf goes into effect and you keep going after Peach, both of those brothers will react as aggressively as they did this afternoon.  It won’t be as bad because Luigi won’t have those combos anymore, but you can be certain that they’re going to deliver the beatdown of your life.”

              “I joined Project Nerf for two reasons,” said Koopa.  “First, to knock Greenie off his pedestal, and second, to make it easier for me to overtake him in a fight.  That way, I can finally claim what’s mine!”

              The pickup and the bus finally pulled up at Sakurai’s manor.  Everyone piled out and followed Smash’s financier into his backyard.

              “At this time, I’d like to ask everyone to bring the bags of evidence right over here,” said Sakurai, indicating a large circle made of stones.

              The conspirators quickly formed an assembly line from pickup to circle, passing the bags from person to person.  Soon, the circle of stones was filled with plastic bags.

              “Throughout this past month, you have all worked very hard,” said Sakurai.  “You showed commitment and determination in regards to our endgame.  As of tonight, our goal has finally been reached.  A completed update patch is in my hands.  A patch which will finally eliminate the down throw combos which have plagued this tournament for too long.  After tonight, we will part ways, our paths never to cross again.  Saying goodbye is hard to do, as is breaking up, so I propose that we make our last night together symbolic—and special.”

              He lit a match and held it over the pile.  “Let us now consecrate the bond between us that must be burned,” he intoned.  “Let us now watch as the flames of our cause consume our target.  Let us now watch Luigi’s beloved combos as they burn, baby, burn!”

              On those words, Sakurai dropped the match into the pile of evidence.  Silently, everyone watched as tongues of red-orange flame licked up the bags, consuming all of the proof of their association with Project Nerf.  And with that proof were memories, memories of the times they shared and all of the trials and triumphs, but these were memories they could afford to forget.

              “We—did it,” whispered Vince as he watched the evidence burn.  Then, if was as if someone flipped a switch in him.  “We did it!” he screamed, leaping up and down.  “We did it, we did it, we did it!”

              His brothers joined in the celebrating, grabbing each other for a group hug, Shane getting a noogie from both Manny and Vince.  They fell onto the grass, roughhousing the way they used to when they were boys.  That was when it felt real for everyone else.

              “I love you,” said Vanessa and Theo, staring into each other’s eyes.

              “I love our family,” sighed Ethan, “and I love you, Lil’ Sis!”

              “I love you to, Ethan!” warbled Anna.

              The Smashers involved exchanged high-fives, Koopa even forgetting his double-whammy of a defeat that afternoon.

              “Things really kicked up once you joined in,” Rolf told Falco.  “Thanks for your help and your ideas.”

              “You’re welcome,” said Falco, blushing, “but really, it was nothing.”

              Sakurai’s team broke out some food and drink, and it wasn’t long before a party was in full swing around the pyre of evidence.

              “On the morning of the last day of this month,” said Sakurai, “you and everyone else who has endured those combos will awaken.  And then you will look at each other and ask, ‘Who has done this?’  And then you will realize that banding together and reaching out to me was what brought this,” he held up the patch notes, “into being.  The face of Super Smash Brothers will be forever changed.  And that man in green will be sorry—sorry for relying so much on one aspect of his playstyle.  My friends—we can come home again!”

              Everyone cheered and raised their drinks high.

**1.1.1**

              Still wired and hot after Koopa’s little stunt, Luigi was in his room, shades open, door locked, clad in a pair of overalls and no shirt, dancing to his music, focused on nothing but the beat and the rhythm and his energy.  His dance was almost like the flames which, unbeknownst to him, were writhing up the evidence linking Falco, Marth, Roy, Dark Pit, Kyle, Mewtwo, Steve, Stevie and Chase, among others, to Project Nerf.  He danced in near darkness, save for the starlight peeking in through the windowsill, backlighting his figure.  His neck, shoulders, chest and arms stood out the most, awash in sweat.  The closed door blocked out the sounds of his breaths as well as the music playing from his phone, allowing him to release that leftover adrenaline without worry of keeping everyone else awake.  Miles away, a conspiracy against him was racing towards the finish line, and still he danced away through the long, long night, eyes closed, lips upturned in a singular smile.

 


	31. T Minus 1 Day

**24 Hours Remain**

              One day left.  This was Falco Lombardi’s waking thought as he rolled himself out of bed.  One day left.  One more day of this combo nonsense, and then it would be ancient history.  Let’s see what Luigi thought of _that_.

              He showered, pulled on some clothes and sauntered over to the cafeteria for breakfast.  Oatmeal, bacon, sausage and chocolate chip pancakes were on the menu.  First, Falco helped himself to a bowl of oatmeal, topping it with some nuts and maple syrup.  Finally, he piled his plate high with pancakes, doused _them_ with syrup, and wolfed them down.

              Often, Falco’s eyes would meet Marth’s, Roy’s or those of his fellow conspirators, and he’d give them a knowing wink.  All of them knew that today was the day.  Sakurai would deliver his patch notes to Master Hand this evening, and he and Crazy Hand would sign off on the new patch, which would go into effect at the stroke of midnight.  Today was the day.  Their toiling was about to pay off.

              After Falco drank two frosted-over glasses of milk, he called an elevator, got inside and pressed the button for the Training Room.  He needed to work off his meal before jumping into the day’s matches.  But as always—he’d swing by to check his schedule for—

              His thoughts were interrupted when the elevator doors suddenly slid back open.  Remembering that dream, Falco stiffened.  But he relaxed when he saw that it was only Luigi.

              The man in green paused when he saw Falco in the elevator.  He could’ve waited for the next one, but something in his mind told him not to.  So he strode inside and stood opposite of the avian.  Quietly, the elevator doors closed, and the car resumed its trip.

              _Crud_ , Falco thought.  _We’re both headed for the Training Room_.

              Falco felt the weight in the air.  He couldn’t look at Luigi, and Luigi couldn’t look at him.  It was as if they were familiar strangers.  Both knew that they had to broach the subject eventually.  But when?  And how?

              The Fates must’ve had an answer for that, for seconds later, the elevator jolted and jerked to a stop.  Falco blew out a breath.  “Well,” he said to his companion, breaking the silence, “this is just swell, isn’t it?”

              The lights suddenly went out.  Instinctively, Falco rummaged for a flashlight, knowing how skittish Luigi was around the dark.  But Luigi had already beaten him to it, whipping out a flashlight, turning it on, and setting it upright on the floor.

              They both sat down on either side of the flashlight, staring at their dimly-lit surroundings.

              “Hey, let’s face it,” Falco said humorously.  “This isn’t the worst thing that can happen to us.”

              Luigi’s face was set as he looked at Falco.  “You don’t get to do this,” he said.

              Falco blinked.  “What?”

              “You don’t get to sit here and make small talk like everything’s okay,” Luigi told him.  “The time’s come for the two of us to face facts—I don’t think our friendship can sustain anymore.”

              “Aw, c’mon, you’re quitting on me?” asked Falco.

              “ _You_ quit on _me_ a long time ago,” Luigi said levelly.  “You haven’t spoken to me, you haven’t reached out to me, you’ve stopped rooting for me in my matches—you’ve avoided Mario and Peach.  I’ve wanted to talk to you about this, but—I just couldn’t approach you.  It’s too painful.  It’s just too painful.”

              “Luigi, I…” Falco sighed.  “I needed time to think.  I know what I said to you was wrong, but—it slipped out.”

              “That’s no excuse,” said Luigi.  “I keep hearing your words when I’m trying to sleep and when I’m trying to concentrate on my opponent.”  His voice began choking.  “What you said to me, Falco, gave me all sorts of doubts regarding my friends and Mario and how they handle losing to me—that they’re not as gracious about it as they want me to believe.  That they’re acting salty and throwing tantrums about it behind closed doors.  Your words made me worried that I’m pushing people away—pushing loved ones away—because my fighting style frustrates them.  I’ve had to rethink my relationship with Mario more than once, with him being the main hero in his universe and me being the help that nobody seems to remember.  I’ve asked myself the same questions over and over, ‘Is my brother secretly p—ed off that he has trouble beating me in a match?  Does he secretly wish that I don’t have these combos?  Does he sneak off to Master Hand’s office to yell at him about it like everyone else?’  He’s tried to reassure me, but I just can’t shake the hunch that he needs to remind me who’s Player One and who’s Player Two—like when he ‘accidentally’ stepped on my foot after I won the Power Tennis Tournament.  And your words only worsened that feeling.”  He began to sob.  “ _Che cosa l’ho fatto, Falco?  Che cosa?_ ”

              “It’s not that you did anything to me, Luigi,” Falco said gently.  “It was just—I was frustrated and at my wit’s end.  I mean, I’d run through every strategy in my arsenal, but somehow, you found a way around it…”

              “What?  So it’s _my_ fault?  I should just let people beat on me during my matches?  It’s a _tournament_ , for C—st’s sake!  That’s what I’m _supposed_ to do!”

              “I never said it was your fault,” said Falco, trying to calm his estranged friend.

              “Have you ever considered that the goal of these tournaments is to, I don’t know, _come up with new strategies_?” Luigi asked through angry tears, face reddening and eyes narrowing.  “There was a time when I could barely defeat anyone in battle, but did I sit around and mope and [ _bleep_ ] and complain to Master Hand?  No.  I kept pushing on.  I practiced, I sparred, I clenched my teeth through the pain, and that’s how I got those combos in the first place.  But the first thing _you_ do is tell me to my face that I’m overpowered and then give up!”

              “I just said not to rely so much on your combos…”

              “And you accused me of acting like I’m on top of the world.  Well, I don’t act like that, I never have, and I never will!”

              “I just—Luigi, please, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what else to say.  I’m sorry.”

               “‘Sorry’ doesn’t get those words out of my head or the doubts out of my mind.  ‘Sorry’ doesn’t change the fact that your little tirade made me think that something’s wrong with me.  That my down throw isn’t a combo tool, but an unwanted factor in some cold equation.  I can’t believe that you’d stoop to that level, Falco!  I thought you were my friend!”

              “Oh, Luigi,” said Falco.  “This whole thing has everyone f—ed up.”

              “And now, there’s an update patch slated to go into effect tomorrow,” Luigi went on, briefly composing himself.  “There was no talk of update patches until this hate against my down throw.  Coincidence?  I think _not_.”

              Falco stared, bemused, at Luigi.

              “Oh, don’t give me that look.  You said it yourself, ‘Just you wait till something happens.’  Well, something is happening, all right.  Proud of yourself?”

              “I didn’t mean it, I swear.  I had no idea…”

              “And that makes it better, doesn’t it?”

              “Luigi, what do you want me to say?”

              “I look at you nowadays, and it appears that you made your decision about our friendship while I’ve struggled to make mine,” Luigi said softly as more tears flowed.  “And by and by, the best decision on my part lately is to let go, move on, because I don’t wanna get hurt again.  But there’s something holding me back, and part of me wants to fight for us.  I need something worth fighting for, and so far, you haven’t given it.  So, if you want to move on, I’ll respect your decision and move on, too.”

              Falco averted his gaze to his lap.

              “But I just wanna know why?” Luigi demanded of the avian, deep sobs heaving his whole body.  “Why, Falco?  Please, just tell me, why?”

              “I—I…” stammered Falco.  “I was—I—you—I…”

              “Why, d—mit, why?!”

              “I don’t know!” Falco blurted out.  In a softer voice, “I wish to God I do, but I don’t.  I just don’t.  I—didn’t think.”

              “No, you didn’t,” Luigi said bitterly, “and now look what’s happened.”

              “Luigi, if I can go back and unsay those words, I would, in the blink of an eye.  Would there still be an update patch?  Probably.  But if you want to fight for us—if you’re willing to fight—then I’ll fight along with you.  I’m sure there’s something worth fighting for among this mess.”

              “The first time I asked you why you went off on me,” said Luigi, “why didn’t you just say that?”

              “Because back then, I didn’t know what to say,” Falco mused.  “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Luigi.  I know I don’t deserve it.  I just want you to understand.”

              “I’ll never understand,” Luigi said in a voice close to a whisper.  “You were one of the best friends I’d ever had, and then you turned on me.  I felt like you betrayed me.  And if you can’t give me a reason why, then I’ll never know why.”

              Falco found himself choking up.  “Is—is this really the end, my old friend?”

              “It’s never gonna be the same with you and I,” said Luigi. “I’m sorry.”

              In that moment, Falco felt the urge to confess everything to him, his sojourn through that website, that first email he sent to Stuart, the web chats, his meeting with Sakurai and how he set in motion the chain of events culminating in Master Hand and Sakurai coming together to discuss a new update patch.  But it was too late.  The patch notes would fall into MH’s lap later that day, and the changes would be effective tomorrow morning.  He’d just have to hope against hope that Luigi would never find out.

              Another light flashed into the elevator as the top creaked open and rescue workers peered down at the two.  Chad was among them, a proud smile on his face as he figured out that Falco had heeded his advice.

              “All right, guys,” he said.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

              Falco turned to Luigi. “Hey,” he said. “How would you like to go flying one last time?”

              A big smile slowly worked its way onto Luigi’s tear-stained face.

**1.1.1**

              “What did you tell Master Hand?” Luigi asked once they were in the air.

              “The truth,” said Falco, “that I needed to take the morning off and clear my head.”

              “Well,” said Luigi, “being stuck in an elevator _does_ tend to rattle people.”

              Falco sat in the pilot’s seat of his Arwing, with Luigi occupying the co-pilot’s seat.  The plumber wore one of the avian’s flight jackets to protect against the cold temperatures at the high altitude.  Sitting there, staring out the window as they flew above the clouds and the wind combed through his hair, Luigi felt quite calm.  Maybe it wasn’t just coincidence that Falco was in the elevator with him when the power went out.

              “I’ve meant to ask,” said Falco, “did you ever want to be a pilot?”

              Luigi chuckled.  “That’s definitely not the job for me,” he said.  “The Propeller Shroom is good enough, thank you.”

              “That power-up is totally overrated,” snickered Falco.  “It doesn’t let you do _this_.”

              He sent the Arwing into a barrel roll, making Luigi yelp and cling for dear life.

              “Or this.”  He performed a loop-de-loop as Luigi shrieked.

              “ _Dio_!  Next time, could you warn me in advance?” gasped Luigi.

              “Okay.  Sorry, L,” said Falco.

              Luigi settled down.  Smirking, Falco suddenly banked the Arwing.  His passenger gasped and held on for the ride.

              The craft dipped low, her wings skimming the waves, before her pilot swept her back up, pulling off a quick corkscrew as she did.

              Luigi was laughing now.

              “See what you’re missing, L?” asked Falco.  “Hey, why don’t you take ahold of those controls over there?”

              Luigi didn’t need to be asked twice.  Gently, he wrapped his fingers around the copilot’s controls and placed his feet on the pedals.

              “Now,” said Falco.  “Just follow my lead.”

              He tilted his stick to the left, and Luigi copied that action.  Then, straightened.  Then tilted to the right.  Then tilted up, then down.  Ace pilot and plumber were perfectly synchronized.  A feeling of peace and closure blossomed through both of them.  There they were, in the cockpit, with blue sky and fluffy clouds all around, doing one of their favorite activities.  Just like old times—almost.

              Two hours later, they returned to the base and landed the Arwing, Falco talking Luigi through the entire process.  The avian smiled at Luigi when they came to a stop on the runway.  “You’re amazing,” he said.  “You didn’t panic or lose your nerve once.  Maybe you should join our team.”

              “I may not want to pilot a commercial jet, but—if it’s something small, I’ll consider,” said Luigi.

              “Hey!” a voice barked from afar.  “That Arwing should’ve been here an hour ago!”

              “Come on!” shouted Falco, the two of them jumping out of the aircraft and making a beeline for the parachute hangar.

              As they hid among the white sheets, déjà vu struck Falco like a cold front.  Something similar to this had happened during one of the first times he’d taken Luigi up with him.  It had been at night, and the two of them had talked and gazed at the stars while waiting for the coast to clear.

              He returned to the present as Luigi held out a can of roasted nuts to him.  Smiling, Falco took a handful and popped the nuts into his mouth.

              “This hangar would make a fine stage,” said Luigi, his mouth also full of nuts.

              “I know, right?” laughed Falco.  “All of these parachutes would make good hiding places, so we can sneak attack our opponents.  We could throw them into people’s faces to distract them, too.  That would be awesome.”

              “And that patrolman would be a stage hazard,” added Luigi.

              “Indeed.  If he catches you, that an instant KO, so you’ve got to use these parachutes to hide from him,” Falco put in.

              Both laughed.  Then, they fell silent as they emptied the can of nuts.

              “We should put _that_ in the suggestion box,” said Falco when the can was nearly empty.

              “Yeah…” said Luigi.  The mood was quickly turning somber.

              “What?” asked Falco.

              “How many people have visited that suggestion box lately?” asked Luigi.

              “C’mon, L…”

              “Did _you_ visit it with a ‘suggestion’ about me?”  His voice had hardened.

              “You know that’s confidential information,” said Falco.

              “Can’t you see why this friendship will never truly repair?” Luigi asked in a quivering voice.  “I can’t look at you the same way again.  I can’t trust you the same way again.  If my down throw is nerfed tomorrow morning, then I’ll always know that your words brought it about.”

              Falco hung his head.

              “And another thing—if you continue to hide from Mario, then how can I count on you?  It’ll only make you look more suspicious in my eyes.  Falco, I…” Fresh tears splashed onto his cheeks.  “I can’t do this anymore.  There’s just too much pain.”

              “I hide from him because I’m frightened of him, okay?” explained Falco.  “I feel like if I approach him, he’ll go on the attack because of what I did to you.  I’ve had bad dreams about him.  That afternoon in the commissary when I fumed and said that I wasn’t sorry—I locked eyes with him, and then I freaked out.  In that elevator—you were at least willing to hear me out.  But I don’t think _he_ will.”

              “He’s just being my brother.  You have to give him time,” said Luigi.  “If someone had browbeaten Fox over something, would you have reacted the same way?”

              “D—n right I would’ve.”

              “Then do you understand how Mario feels?” asked Luigi.

              Falco nodded.

              “The best thing to do is to maintain your distance until he’s had a chance to calm down,” said Luigi.  “He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.  But don’t hide from him, because to him that’s not only further evidence of your guilt, but also I sign that you’re trying to hide from the consequences.  That was another thing that had me raw.  Hiding from Mario meant that you didn’t want to admit responsibility for lashing out like that.”

              “Why does he take every slight against you so personally?” grumbled Falco.

              “Hey, don’t be like that,” said Luigi.  “That’s what brothers do.  They look out for one another.”

              “Wow,” said Falco.  “I really messed things up.”

              “Yes, you did.  There’s a good chance that I’ll fully forgive you for what went down that day, but I’ll never forget.  Those words will always be part of me, and also part of that update patch.  I just can’t shake the feeling that my down throw will be targeted by that patch.  And when I look at you, I’ll just see a salty, sore loser instead of my best friend.”

              Falco bit his lip.  “I’m really gonna miss this, Luigi.”

              “I’m gonna miss it, too,” said Luigi, voice cracking, “but it’s the way it has to be.  Can’t you understand?”

              “Yes,” Falco intoned softly.  “Yes.”

              Luigi rose to his knees and hugged Falco, feeling the ace pilot’s heartbeat close to his chest, crying into his feathers.  Soft wings encircled his back, and Falco let a few tears stain Luigi’s green shirt.  They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, both thankful that they at least won _some_ closure out of this.  With great reluctance, they separated.

              “Goodbye, Luigi,” said Falco.

              “Goodbye, Falco.  I’ll never forget you.”

              “And I won’t forget _you_.”

              They stood, hugged one final time, and parted ways without looking back.

**1.1.1**

              Everyone that day noticed the change in Luigi’s mood.  He went into the day’s matches with a confidence no one had ever seen before.  Nothing, not even a crack at his combos, could knock the smile from his face.  Instead of hopping on a spin bike in between matches, he danced to his music.  He displayed a more positive attitude toward Master Hand and appeared to be forgiving him for “submitting” to the salty contingent.  For the first time in nearly three weeks, Luigi felt—free.

              When that elevator had ground to a halt and the lights had gone out, Luigi had seen it as the hand of Providence.  And so, he’d confronted Falco, finally saying the things that needed to be said and making his decision known.  Falco had tried throwing excuses at him, but ultimately had no choice to concede and admit that he wasn’t thinking that fateful day.  Luigi had made the avian understand why things were near irreparable between them, and after some resistance, Falco had finally accepted.  He’d also started to accept responsibility for their friendship coming apart at the seams, even giving him a ride on his Arwing as a way of saying goodbye.  But Luigi still had hope—hope that they’d piece _some_ semblance of a friendship back together.  He’d pieced his relationships with Pikachu, Captain Falcon and even Mario (on multiple occasions) back together, and he was certain he’d do the same with Falco.

              Surprisingly, Falco also felt better after the much-needed talk with Luigi.  Chad was right, after all.  Facing the man in green was easier than he thought it would be.  He’d finally had an answer to the question Luigi had posed to him—that he didn’t know why he’d said that and that he didn’t use his head.  While making it clear that their friendship had taken a crippling blow, Luigi’s actions signified that the door was always open for a full reconciliation.  Plus, Luigi had offered some insight into how Mario operated, making the ace pilot less afraid of the man in red.  He’d give him the space he needed, and then he’d listen when Mario was ready to talk.

              It was Luigi’s last match before the lunch break when Falco once again felt the little man’s eyes on him.  But this time, it wasn’t a venomous stare.  Slowly, Falco turned and met Mario’s eyes.  The face was still hard and the gaze solemn.  Yet he wasn’t glaring at him.  And then one corner of the plumber’s mouth quirked upwards into a slight smile.  The relief was unbearable.  A silent understanding now existed between the two.

              Later that afternoon, Falco was chowing down on a Value Meal while watching Luigi duke it out with the two Steves in a free-for-all when he heard someone plunk down onto the seat beside him.  The avian nearly choked on his hot dog.  It was Mario!

              “Hey,” said the red-clad plumber.

              “Hey,” Falco said, a bit uneasily.

              “Luigi told me that you talked things out in that elevator,” said Mario.

              “We did.”

              “Falco—I just hope you know—you really hurt him,” Mario said quietly.  “You have no idea how many times I’ve literally dreamed of beating you into the ground for what you did.”

              “Actually, I do,” said Falco.

              Mario raised an eyebrow.

              “Mario, I’ve had nightmares about you.  I could barely sleep; I could barely eat.  I could barely look you in the eye.  And that’s why I’ve avoided you.  I wanted to give you a chance to calm down.”

              “I will never fully calm down from this,” Mario told him, and Falco knew that he wasn’t joking.  “I’m his brother, and I wanna look after him and protect him.  But I wasn’t there to protect him that day, when you stood there and…”  He took several deep breaths.  “It was a few days afterward when he couldn’t take it anymore and confessed everything to me.  He looked so vulnerable and so wounded, and woe betide anyone who hurts my baby bro.”

              Falco laughed nervously.

              “Maybe I’m mad at myself for not being there to stop it.  I don’t know.  But whatever hurts Luigi has the power to hurt me, too.  And then—and then in the commissary, when I heard you…” Mario’s voice broke as he dissolved into painful sobs.

              “Mario,” Falco said gently, laying a hand on the plumber’s shoulder.  “Mario, look at me, man.”

              His face wet with tears, Mario looked up at Falco.

              “I didn’t mean what I said in the commissary.  I _am_ sorry.  Sorry for tarnishing this friendship and sorry for tarnishing your trust in me.  And I don’t care what it takes.  I’ll find a way to make this right.  For both of you.”

              “I believe you,” Mario managed to say.

              “I just want you to stop hating me someday.”

              “I want to hate you—but I can’t,” said Mario.  “You’ll always be part of Luigi’s life, and that’s something I have to accept.”

              “So, are we cool, then?”

              Mario set his lips.  “It’s too late to earn my forgiveness,” he said severely.

              “I don’t ask it,” said Falco.

              “Luigi came to me after your excursion together,” Mario said in a softer tone, “and he said to me, ‘Bro, I get that you’re trying to look out for me, but you can’t hold on to this grudge any longer.  I’ve moved on, and maybe it’s time you do the same.’  If only he’ll realize the difficulty in that.  But from what I’ve gathered, Luigi left the door cracked open for you, which mean that he’s willing to let you back into his life in the future.  I don’t think that’s the best choice, but it’s I choice I’ll respect.  I can learn to tolerate you around my bro, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.  Please, Falco, you have to understand that!”

              “I do.”

              “And don’t worry.  I’m not gonna beat you up in an elevator,” Mario reassured him, rolling his eyes.  “I’m gonna feel the urge to, but I won’t act on it.”

              “Hm.  That’s good to know,” mumbled Falco.  “I guess I should be grateful for that.”

              Sobering up, he said, “I’m glad I got to talk to you, Mario.  Tonight’s gonna be the first sound sleep I’ve had in, well, forever.”

              Mario smiled, bigger this time.  “I guess that goes for me, too.”

              “Take care of yourself, Mario.”

              “You too, Falco.”

              Mario patted Falco on the shoulder before returning to his seat.

              At long glorious last, the two had made peace.

**1.1.1**

**12 Hours Remain**

              Sakurai’s limo pulled up to the entrance of the Smash Mansion.  Jeff hopped out and opened the door for the tournament’s financier.

              “Thank you, Jeff,” said Sakurai, climbing out with a briefcase in his hand.  Escorted by his bodyguards, he entered the mansion and strode down the corridor toward Master Hand’s office, where the Smashers were lined up in rows of two to greet him.

              One by one, Sakurai shook each Smasher by the hand, giving those involved with Project Nerf a secret, knowing look.  He pressed Peach’s gloved hand to his lips, charmed by her.  And he also got a good look at Luigi.

              The target of Project Nerf had a warm, cheery angular face with the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen.  He had a nice, firm grip to his handshake, a polite smile ghosting across his lips.  Today was the last day he’d reign supreme with his precious combos, and he was none the wiser.  Sakurai didn’t count on him smiling like that tomorrow morning.

              When he got to Mario, a small bolt of fear went through him.  He saw him glance warily at his briefcase, and when they shook hands, his hold was tight.  If it had been just the two of them, then Sakurai would’ve wound up with a seriously mangled hand.  But then Mario smiled at him, a sickeningly sweet smile, and Sakurai let out a breath and continued on his way.

              “Hello, there,” said MH, greeting Sakurai with a hug.  “You’ve got something for me?”

              “Yes, I do,” said Sakurai, opening his briefcase and withdrawing the folder marked “CONFIDENTIAL”.

              MH took the folder and opened it, looking over the portfolio.  “Lovely presentation,” he said.  “My twin and I will read this over and give our signatures of approval.  The update will take effect at midnight, and I’ll distribute these notes among my Smashers at 6a.m. tomorrow morning.  Thank you, Mr. Sakurai, for helping to keep Super Smash Brothers fair and balanced.”

              “You’re welcome.  Call me anytime,” said Sakurai.

              He walked out the way he’d come in, once again shaking hands with the Smashers.  As soon as he exited the mansion, a smirk spread across his face.  Luigi’s down throw combos were as good as dead.

              Mission accomplished!

**1.1.1**

**9 Hours Remain**

              “I say it’s perfect,” said Crazy Hand when he and Master Hand finished reading over the notes.  “What do you think?”

              Master Hand tapped his pen against his desk.  “The well-being of my Smashers is at stake,” he said.  “This isn’t about what I think.  This update patch will save this tournament from falling into disorder.  I can feel it.”

              Crazy Hand smiled.  The conspirators’ intentions were well hidden in the notes’ terminology.  MH hadn’t suspected anything while reading through them.  He should know; _he_ helped draft the patch notes, after all.  Taking a pen of his own, CH signed his name where indicated on the document.

              “Whatever happens tomorrow,” said CH, “know that you did it for the good of Nintendo and for the good of gamers everywhere.  And, well, we’ll still have each other, right?”

              “Right,” said MH.  He clicked on his pen and ornately signed his name above his brother’s.  “Well, that’s that.  I’ll go give this to the Miis in the Update Department.  They’ll know what to do and when to do it.”

              Little did he know, Falco was kneeling outside of the office, eating up every word.  As soon as he heard MH sign the update, he smiled broadly, rose to his feet and slipped off into his room, where Mewtwo, Kyle, Dark Pit, Rolf, Steve, Stevie, Chase, Marth, Roy, Vanessa, Theo, Anna, Ethan and the Bennigan Brothers sat, waiting expectantly.

              Excitement flashed in Falco’s eyes.  “It’s done,” he announced.  “Luigi’s down throw combos have seen their last sunrise.”


	32. The Final Countdown

**T minus 1 hour…**

              The Smashers were still asleep as dawn began to stretch over the Smash World.  Falco was conked out with a model Arwing in his arms, unperturbed by unsettling nightmares.  The other conspirators of Project Nerf had lulled themselves to sleep by envisioning the world they’d find themselves in at daybreak.  Luigi, blissfully unaware of his impending nerf or just trying to give the benefit of the doubt, was curled up on his bed, snoring softly.  In the room next to him, Mario and Peach lay clasped in a lover’s embrace.  And Master Hand was sprawled on his bed, holding a stuffed Smash Ball, while Crazy Hand slumbered in his own room, holding a teddy bear close.  The sky outside was still relatively dark, with only a few light patches to the east heralding the approaching morning.

**T minus 45 minutes…**

              Numerous printers hummed as they spat out copies of the patch notes.  A team of Miis stood in a line, armed with large cloth bags, silently watching as each copy was fed into the automatic stapler.  Humming, whirring and clicking, the machine carried out its coldly impersonal task before arranging the stapled copies into neat little piles which the Miis could pick up and load into their bags.  The Miis then slung the bags over their shoulders and gathered in the Main Hall to await further instructions.

**T minus 30 minutes…**

              The sky was now a clash of red and orange as the sun lazily peeked over the eastern edge of the earth.  Luigi was the first Smasher to awaken, rubbing sleep from his eyes and giving a quiet yawn before stretching his body and rolling out of bed.  He stood underneath a cold shower to bring his muscles and nerves to attention, threw on a pair of green coveralls, did some aerobic stretches and swung himself onto his spin bike.  Wasting no time getting his blood pumping as he watched the sun rise, 80s and salsa music streaming from his earbuds.

**T minus 20 minutes…**

              More Miis were wide awake now, preparing the morning’s breakfast.  Meanwhile, most of the Smashers had stirred awake and were now going about their early morning routine.  Showering, primping, watching the news, reading a good book or magazine or getting in a pre-match workout.  Peach scurried to her own room to primp for the day ahead.  Mario fixed himself a screwdriver and watched the Today show while listening to Luigi huff and puff in the room next door.

**T minus 15 minutes…**

              The two Hands floated down into the Main Hall, where the assembled Miis waited diligently.  MH and CH gave brief addresses regarding patch 1.1.1, and then MH passed sheets of paper around to the Miis.  They were the assigned delivery routes for the patch notes.  A beautiful Mii with long, red hair and freckles stared at her delivery route with great interest.

              Meanwhile, Luigi had reached the highest intensity of his workout, his muscles in overdrive, his breath whooshing rhythmically, eyes fierce and completely painted in sweat.  He slumped against the saddle of his spin bike when his workout program was finished and took a hard-earned swig of Gatorade before cooling down and stretching his legs.

In another part of Smashville, preparations for a celebration were happening.  A crowd milled in the streets, tying what appeared to be effigies to tree branches.  The Bennigan Brothers stood on a balcony overlooking the hustle and bustle, smiling smugly.

**T minus 12 minutes…**

Master Hand sent off the Miis on their delivery routes, as all of the Smashers were completely awake at this point.  The redheaded Mii bit her lip as she started down the corridor assigned to her.  It wasn’t long before the sounds of knocking on doors and cheerful salutations from the Miis began working their way around the Smash Mansion.

              After allowing himself a brief break, Luigi plugged in his all-time favorite tunes and began to dance, his still-perspiring body flashing and winking in the morning light.  Stress, tension and other toxins were flushed out of his system in large quantities as the physical exercise continued.

              Elsewhere, Theo treated his wife and kids to breakfast at their favorite diner.  The family was all smiles as they toasted to new beginnings with glasses of chocolate milk.  Ethan and Anna chowed down on twin plates of chocolate chip pancakes, Theo noshed on a Denver omelet and Vanessa had eggs and French toast sticks.  Life was looking up for the foursome already, as Ethan was more open and sociable towards his parents, a better playmate to his sister and a better sportsman when it came to Smash games.  And with this nerf, maybe he could learn to like fighting as and fighting against Luigi.

**T minus 10 minutes…**

              Mario watched Luigi dance through a crack in the door connecting their rooms.  He hoped he made the right decision in letting go of his anger toward Falco yesterday.  Despite everything, that bird _did_ deserve peace of mind and a good night’s sleep.  He honestly didn’t know he had that effect on people besides Koopa.  Looking at Luigi, Mario determined that he felt better regarding what went down those weeks ago.  And Mario himself had slept better.  Maybe holding on to that grudge hadn’t been the best idea.

              But then he heard the faint voices of Miis chirping greetings and remembered that there was an update patch going into effect today.  And if there was a nerf applied to Luigi, then, as he’d pointed out yesterday, Falco’s little diatribe would be forever associated with it.

              Peach finished fixing her hair and makeup and opened her door to find a Mii waiting for her, plucking a copy of the patch notes from the pile in her backpack and holding it out to her with a smile.  “I was just about to knock on the door,” she said.

              “Thanks,” said Peach as she accepted the copy.

              Once the Mii left, Peach texted Mario, inviting him over to her room to look at the notes together.

**T minus 9 minutes…**

              The auburn-haired Flower Princess was awakened by Chrys, one of her ladies in waiting.  “What is it?” she sleepily asked.

              Chrys looked pale.  “I bring grave news from the Smash World,” she said.  “A new update patch was released today and—your boyfriend…”

              Daisy was wide awake now.  “What about him?”

              Chrys indicated Daisy’s laptop.  “Maybe you should see for yourself.”

              Back in the Smash Mansion, Luigi continued to dance, so disconnected with everything that he nearly forgot about the new patch…

**T minus 8 minutes…**

              Peach and Mario practically skimmed through everyone else’s names, grimacing over Koopa’s buffs and nodding at Dr. Mario’s buffs.  Their friends received a fair mix of buffs and nerfs.  But the person they were concerned about the most was Luigi.

              When they finally came across Luigi’s name, they paused.  Peach glanced over at Mario.  “You ready?” she asked.

              Mario nodded to her.  “Here goes,” he said with some trepidation.

              Meanwhile, Daisy logged onto the Smash website, clicked on the link taking her to the patch notes and scrolled down the names until she got to Luigi’s.  And when she saw the second bullet point, she couldn’t believe her eyes…

**T minus 7 minutes…**

              It was worse than they imagined.

              The change in shield mechanics had done a number on Luigi.  Not only did the increased shieldstun render him practically unable to punish out of shield, but also only a pitiful few moves benefited from the change.

              With the second bullet point came the news they dreaded.  The base knockback on Luigi’s down throw had decreased by 20 points.

              Luigi’s combos were as good as dead.

              “No…” gasped Mario, the page blurring before his eyes.  Instinctively, Peach wrapped her arms around him, pillowing his head on her shoulder.  She bit her lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood.  The past week of hoping against hope didn’t prepare for the reality of seeing the words on the paper.

              In her castle, Daisy clapped her hands over her mouth, feeling tears well up.  She’d heard the rumors, of course, but had dismissed them as speculation.  There was nothing wrong with Luigi!  All everyone needed to do was practice!  But, _nooooo!_   They chose to have conniptions and complain about it!  And now look what happened!

              Chrys somberly helped Daisy out of her seat and gently steered her toward the kitchen for a glass of water and a hearty breakfast.  The Flower Princess sobbed quietly, her heart breaking for her man in green.  She knew she had to call him after breakfast to make sure he was okay—or, if he hadn’t found out yet, break the news to him gently.

**T minus 6 minutes…**

              Once the other Smashers got their copies of the patch notes, it didn’t take long for the news of Luigi’s nerf to spread.  Marth’s face erupted in a poo-eating grin, and Roy fell to his knees and thanked Naga.  Mewtwo chuckled wickedly, Dark Pit wore a gleeful expression and Kyle did a victory dance.  The two Steves also did a celebratory dance, flipping each other over their backs like jitterbuggers.  Falco fell back onto his bed, feeling totally vindicated.  Chase ordered some champagne on ice, and Rolf decided to celebrate with a fish fry later that night.  Koopa bellowed with laughter.  Combined with the generous buff he’d received, Greenie’s nerf was the cherry on the sundae.

              As for the other Smashers, to say they were devastated wouldn’t suffice.  The majority of them never saw the nerf coming and could only shake their heads in wide-eyed denial.  The other reps from the Mario universe could only stare dumbly at each other.  And when it finally hit them, it hit them hard.  Rosalina was slumped against a wall as her Lumas attempted to comfort her.  Diddy Kong removed his hat in respect as DK let out a sad growl.  Everyone sought out a friend or a loved one for advice or a shoulder to cry on.

**T minus 5 minutes…**

              Having finished their breakfast, Theo and his family headed over to the celebrations in Smashville.  They saw Vince, Manny and Shane on the balcony, many tents and booths lining the streets.  Happily, the family joined in the festivities.

              Falco started at the second knock on his door.  Blaster in hand, he crept over to answer it.

              A Mii wearing dark sunglasses silently handed him a briefcase, as did the two Miis standing behind him.  Falco dragged the briefcases inside his room and opened them using a code the three Miis had given him on a slip of paper.  It was the payment he and the Bennigan Brothers had agreed upon when they first met.  Closing the briefcases and hiding them in a secret place, Falco allowed himself to envision the nice things he was going to do with all that money.

              One by one, the conspirators of Project Nerf received their rewards for their contributions.  Theo and Vanessa received two cash-filled briefcases apiece, which they quickly hid in the family car.  Ethan got a scholarship to a prestigious university, and Anna got free ice-cream at her favorite creamery for a whole year.  Crazy Hand was also paid very generously.  But everyone involved would tell you that they would’ve gone through with this for free.

**T minus 4 minutes…**

              The redheaded Mii was halfway through her assigned corridor and was two rooms away from Luigi.  She hoped that there was a bathroom nearby so she could take a quick stress dump.

              As for Luigi himself, he was still oblivious to his nerf, dancing and shimmying through one last song before deciding to save the rest of his energy for the day’s matches.  He jumped into another shower to wash away the stink from his exertions and dressed in a clean green-and-blue outfit.

              In the streets of Smashville, Vince was giving a speech ushering in “the new age of Super Smash Brothers”, the crowd below him clinging to his every word.  His two brothers stood nearby, gazing proudly.

 **T minus 3 minutes…**                

              Luigi combed his hair and slipped on his green ball-cap.  Update patch or not, he was determined for today to be a good one.  He heard the redheaded Mii chatting with someone nearby and knew that she’d soon be handing him his copy of the patch notes.  The trepidation and the memories of the rants he’d overheard sent him bolting to his bathroom for a major tension dump.

**T minus 2 minutes…**

              Ribbons and confetti descended upon the revelers as Vince finished his speech, Ethan and Anna wasting no time playing in it.

              Mario, meanwhile, was starting to compose himself and still his racing thoughts.  How was he gonna tell his brother about this?  And where would Falco’s place in his orbit be from now on?  Peach rubbed the small of her plumber’s back, asking herself the same questions.

              Luigi sat on the edge of his bed, bowels soothed, reading a magazine, thinking positive, and remembering to breathe.

              The word of the hour was—steady.  Steady.

**T minus 1 minute…**

              The redheaded Mii finally reached Luigi’s door and knocked on it.  Seconds later, it opened, revealing the man in green, smiling and ready to go.  “Good morning,” he said.

              “Morning,” the redheaded Mii replied.  “As you know, an update patch for this tournament is now in effect.  I have your copy of the patch notes.”

              “Thank you,” Luigi said politely as she gave the copy to him.

              She smiled.  “Enjoy,” she said before continuing on her way.

              Holding the patch notes under his arm, Luigi closed his door and strode back to his bed.

              In the midst of the celebration, Theo turned to his wife, noticing her slightly distracted expression. “A penny for your thoughts?”

              Vanessa heaved a small sigh.  Victory was theirs, but with a price.  Peach could never find out about her role in this, and this went double for Mario.  And there was another possibility, too, a possibility which she now voiced to her husband.  “I fear,” she mused softly, “that all we have accomplished is to awaken a sleeping giant.”

**T minus 30 seconds…**

              Luigi lay on his stomach on the bed, legs lazily kicking back and forth in the air, casually reading through the patch notes.  He frowned when he saw that Koopa had been buffed; that wouldn’t bode well for Mario or Peach.

**T minus 20 seconds…**

              Master Hand sat in his office, eating a bagel with the cream cheese smeared on thick, listening as his Smashers laughed and cheered at their buffs and groaned and sighed at their nerfs.  For the umpteenth time, he wondered if he made the right call, or if something more sinister was in play.

**T minus 10 seconds…**

              Luigi had now reached the L’s on the patch notes, and his heart began to pound.

**T minus 9…**

**T minus 8…**

**T minus 7…**

              Well, it was nice that his friends Link, Little Mac and Lucario were buffed.

**T minus 6…**

**T minus 5…**

              He pursed his lips when he saw Lucina’s Shield Breaker was nerfed.  One could only hope that they did the same thing with Marth’s.

**T minus 4…**

**T minus 3…**

              Now, his heart was _really_ pounding as he arrived at his own name.  And the first bullet point under it was red.  _That_ didn’t look good.

**T minus 2…**

              He let out a huff of displeasure when saw that his out-of-shield punish game had taken a blow.  Then, his finger moved toward the next bullet point…

**T minus 1…**

**1.1.1**

              And then—Luigi saw it.

**“Down throw’s knockback has been altered (75 base/30 growth** **→ 55 base/83 growth).  The new knockback scaling removes Luigi's most notable follow-ups (very few moves are now only semi-guaranteed KO set-ups), particularly outside of medium percents.”**

 


	33. Epilogue: Zero Hour

              Chad sat on a park bench, patch notes in hand, reading and rereading that red bullet point over and over.  They’d actually done it.  Luigi had been nerfed.  And he’d helped start this whole mess.  Tears prickled at his eyes, bitter, remorseful tears, which he quickly swiped away.  He’d changed his ways, that was true, but Project Nerf would forever stain his conscience, for it was something he’d have to live with for the rest of his days.  The Mario Bros would hate him if they found out he had anything to do with this.  How he’d make this up to them, he’d never know.

              His phone buzzed.  He answered with a curt, “Hello?”

              “What’s up, Chad?” Crazy Hand cheerfully asked.

              “What do you want, Crazy Hand?” snapped Chad.

              “Now, that’s not a good way to address an old friend,” chided CH.

              “You’re no friend of mine,” said Chad.  “Not anymore.”

              “Well, good, because this isn’t a social call.”  CH’s voice had turned ominous.  “The Bennigan Brothers and I have a new project in the works.”

              Chad huffed.  “They’ll never run out of ways to hurt Luigi, will they?”

              CH cackled.  “That man in green deserves everything that’s coming to him, and then some.  Now, where was I?  Oh, right—we have a brand spanking new operation in the works, and this time, we won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

              Chad’s bowels seized.  _That_ didn’t sound good.

              “I’ve already spoken to Marth, Roy, Falco and the other Smashers who helped out, and Theo and his folks are also aboard.  _You_ , however, are a different story.  The question is—what to do about it…”

              “Look, Crazy Hand…” growled Chad.

              “You know, it’s a real bummer, Luigi losing those combos,” CH went on.  “As we speak, people are lining up to whale on him the way he used to whale on them.  It’s open season for that man in green now, and that’s bound to put Mr. Nintendo on the warpath.”  After pausing for effect, he cooed, “You _know_ how Mario gets when people get rough with his little brother.  And he’s gonna spend these coming months looking for answers.  Sooner or later, he’s gonna come running to me.”

              Chad shuddered.

              “I can even tell you how our conversation will go down, how many delicious morsels and goodies I’ll feed him, all of the audio and video recordings, the dossiers upon dossiers of photographs and phone records I have at my disposal—if I choose to.”

              “Oh, J—s,” murmured Chad.  “Sweet J—s.”

              “He’s not listening right now, Chad,” CH said smartly.  “Face it, buddy—you never had a chance with the Mario Bros to begin with.  When you showed up at two of our meetings, you sealed your own fate.  You’re gonna spend the rest of your life peeking over your shoulder and sleeping with one eye open—to no avail.  One of these fine days, you’ll be at Super Mario’s mercy.  Unless—I decide to save you.”  Softly, he asked, “Do you want me to save you, Chad?”

              “Yes,” Chad managed to say.

              “Then listen very carefully.  You know of the Smash Ballots, yes?  Well, our green-capped friend wants someone to win that Ballot.  And with your help, we’re going to see to it that she won’t.”

              “That’s insane!  You’re asking me to commit ballot tampering!” exclaimed Chad.

              “We’re ordering you to, actually,” CH said smartly, “because make no mistake, _Chad_ , you are ours now.  We say jump, you say where.  Unless you prefer to be Mario’s punching bag when I lead him straight to you.  Understand?”

              “I understand,” Chad said hoarsely.

              “We’re taking a well-deserved break for now,” said CH.  “Sometime in November, you and the others will be briefed on the objectives of Operation Ballot Box and what needs to be done for it to be a success.  We’ll expect you to attend all of the meetings regarding this endeavor.  All of them.  Are we clear?”

              “I think I’m gonna be sick,” moaned Chad.

              “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” smirked CH on the other end of the line.  “And one more thing—we will be monitoring you _very_ closely on this one.  So, if we get so much as one phone call hinting at a defection on your part, then Mario’s gonna get a phone call.  And after he gets that phone call, he’s gonna head to my office, ready to listen to what I have to tell him.  Remember—it only takes a phone call.”

              “I won’t defect,” Chad managed to spit out.  “You have my word.”

              “Hmm.  Good to know,” said CH.  “You have yourself a nice day, Chad.”  And then he hung up.

              With trembling fingers, Chad put his phone away.  Then, he lunged for the nearest trash can and retched.

              When he was finished, he wiped his mouth, stumbled back towards the bench and then collapsed on it, gasping, feeling as if his whole life was over.

              “Why, oh, why did I ever get mixed up with those a—holes?!”

**1.1.1**

              _In the lounge, he sat there smirking, as he had been for the past hour or so.  At long last, a chance at a marvelous victory against that stupid, green clad bean pole!  He’d dreamed of this for the past month—looked forward to this—him creaming the puny idiot until he couldn’t take anymore—until he was sniffling and whimpering and sobbing and crying out for his mercy—and finally, that dream came true, now that he no longer had to worry about that godforsaken ground pound!  Things had gone just as he’d planned, him owning the guy with blow after blow, the latter’s secret weapon finally failing him.  He got his revenge, so to speak, on that stupid man in green for all the times he’d executed combos on him till he ran out of breath.  Several times, he had to pinch himself for reassurance that this was real!  He was in Heaven, right up until Master Hand called “Time.”_

_“Ha!  That scrawny little squirt!” jeered the arrogant victor, taking another celebratory swig of his cocktail.  “Not so tough now without those combos, are you?”_

              _God bless patch 1.1.1.  And God bless the Bennigan Brothers for putting that idea in Master Hand’s head!  Later that night, the victor was going to continue the celebration by hitting the bars and getting—er—Super Smashed—as the images of him completely thrashing the mustachioed man in green continued to drum across his mindscape._

**1.1.1**

_Match after match, they were all on cloud nine.  Match after match, they paid Luigi back in spades for every combo he’d styled on them.  Their friends beamed at them and said that they_ knew _all they needed was a little practice, but practice had nothing to do with it.  They were the best, for goodness sake!  That man in green had been the only reason why they barely won a match up to now—him and that godforsaken down throw!  And when they got together via social media, they all agreed that this heavy nerf on Luigi was just what the doctor ordered._

_Upon further introspection, they also realized that they had themselves to thank for this good fortune.  They’d worked together and with the Bennigan Brothers to charm the powers-that-be.  They’d discovered a powerful ally on the inside willing to give them a big hand (pun definitely intended).  They’d learned that they’d helped Sakurai as much as he’d helped them.  And they’d manipulated another “hand”—Master Hand—to get something done about that pesky down throw._

_And here, for them to savor, were the fruits of their labor—the result of such a “something”._

_The result of 30 days of hard work._

_30 days of adventure._

_30 days of tears, laughter and senses-shattering suspense._

_The result of the last 30 days leading to patch 1.1.1._

**1.1.1**

              He wasn’t going to cry.

              He wasn’t going to sulk in his room.

              He wasn’t going to mope around and feel sorry for himself.

              He was going to head to the Training Room and get some practice.

              As one of his playlists blared on the stereo, Luigi battered away at a Sandbag, refusing to think about how many Smashers took advantage of his nerf.  Nor did he allow himself an opportunity to recall the mockery tossed his way or how they dared him to pull off the combos this update patch had done in.  Koopa, especially, had been vicious in rubbing the nerf in Luigi’s face, but as always, he ignored him.  All he could do now was play the hand he was dealt.

              Three songs in, Luigi paused to catch his breath.  He took a swig of his sports drink and whipped off his shirt, much to the pleasure of a few Miis who, once again, were pretending not to watch.  Then, he _really_ let loose, translating the sting, stress, shock, hurt, frustration and anger into power and strength.  His attacks sizzled into that Sandbag, and when he saw the seam begin to open, he casually skipped to another one.  His body danced and dipped and rolled with the punches, the kicks and the Smash attacks.  He buzzed like an angry bee around groups of Sandbags when he brushed up on his aerial attacks.  Aggressive, sharp and steady whistling breaths filled the Training Room, the upbeat tunes barely drowning them out.  Even with the door closed, the sound of Luigi’s breathing somehow slipped out.  It was faint, yes, but it was there.  Not that Luigi cared at the moment.  He needed to get this ugliness out of his system, so he could focus and ponder his next move.

              Two people lingered outside the Training Room, one of them a familiar, red-capped hero, watching his younger brother through one of the windows.  His gloved hands clutched the sill tightly, as if it would anchor him to the earth.  It probably wouldn’t, as he was bouncing lightly on his toes.  Sea blue eyes were fixed on the green-capped fighter within, and his breath fogged the pane as he whispered, “Yeah.  Yeah.  You got it, Bro.  You got it.”

              A dainty, gloved hand rested firmly on his shoulder, soothing him enough to stop bouncing.  Super Mario turned and smiled gratefully at his Peach.  She was wearing a green dress today, her lovely blue eyes accentuated with green eye shadow.  Rubbing the small of her hero’s back, Peach said softly, “He’ll be alright.”

              “Today hasn’t been a good day for him,” sighed Mario.  “He only managed to win a few of his matches.  The rest of his opponents practically ripped him to shreds.”

              “But he’s not letting that slow him down,” smiled Peach.  “Look at him.  He knows that won’t do any good.  If only everyone else followed his example…”

              “That’s exactly why I’m so wired,” explained Mario.  “When life deals you spaghetti sauce, you make spaghetti.  Even though a good chunk of his combos were taken from him, he’s soldiering on.”

              “I know,” said Peach.  “I know.”

              “I saw this coming, you know,” Mario said suddenly.  “The rants in MH’s office, the Miiverse posts, the general salt.  And I—just didn’t want to believe it.”

              “Hey,” Peach said gently.  “Everyone gave it the benefit of the doubt.  This isn’t your fault.”

              Mario’s eyes glistened as he refocused his attention on Luigi.  “Wow.  Look at him,” he mused as the green-clad one sailed through the air and slammed into a Sandbag.  “He’s taken a beating, and yet he’s picking himself back up.  That’s my bro.”

              Back inside the Training Room, Luigi sensed a fog clearing from his mind.  As he continued to work the Sandbags, he remembered seeing something about his Cyclone being buffed.  He also had a bigger hitbox on his d-air, and his combo-escaping n-air remained untouched.  After dealing one last punch, he began practicing his d-air, quickly finding that he had a better chance of getting that spike.  After throwing out a few d-airs, he next threw out a handful of n-airs, finishing by sending a Super Jump Punch into the canvas.  He flicked some sweat from his forehead and kept going.

              Standing there at the window, Mario quivered with contained energy.  Luigi was still so enthralling to watch, nerf be d—ned.  He leaned into Peach’s touch as he observed the intense facial expression, that determined spark in his eyes, his clenched mouth softening into a smile.  His body continued to move fluidly from Sandbag to Sandbag, sweat plastering him thickly and making him come aglow, tiny droplets flinging themselves off him.  His bangs were stuck to the back of his neck, as were several curls of hair to his forehead.  His muscles flexed excitedly beneath his skin, his chest practically dancing as it heaved in and out.  Now, his mouth was in that distinctive “O” shape as he concentrated hard.  The sound of the blows were muffled by the walls and windows, but Mario could still hear the breaths, whooshing and rhythmic and fierce.

              Luigi hammered into those Sandbags long and hard until he could no longer ignore the entreaties from his long-suffering lungs.  As he sat against the wall, waiting for his heart rate to come down, he noticed that his playlist was starting to repeat.  Once he could breathe a little through his nose, he stood and selected another playlist to play.  After he gulped down some more of his sports drink, he took a preparatory breath and leaped right back into his training.

              And it was then that he decided that he was just—finished.  Finished with fretting and worrying about that nerf, finished with fuming and mulling over what would’ve been.  His down throw combos— _those_ down throw combos—were gone, and there was nothing he could do about _that_.

              _But_ —

              The end of _those_ combos didn’t mean the end of the world.  Just because _they_ were finished in Smash didn’t mean _he_ was finished.  There were _new_ combos out there, brand-spanking new combos he could create, string together, practice and hammer into his strategy.  New combos he could expertly craft if he worked _with_ the nerf, rather than _against_ it.  New combos ready to sprout themselves from the ashes of the old ones, ready to poke their heads out of the rubble of this nerf and say, “Hello!”  All he needed—was a little patience.

              And outside that window, both Mario and Peach saw and felt the fire, the fire blazing in Luigi’s face and along his limbs and in his heart and mind.  His power and emotions became nice and focused, resisting the icy grasp of self-pity.  It was as if they were witnessing a fireworks display ushering in the New Year.  And in those fireworks, in that fire, came the same thoughts Luigi was thinking, that there were new combos waiting to be discovered and tested, and that the nerf _didn’t_ slam the door in his face, but rather, opened up all sorts of possibilities.  By now, Mario was hopping up and down as if he was on a pogo stick, shouting to his brother in English and Italian, with no stuffy ushers telling him to lay off.

              Through the window and over his music and his breathing, Luigi heard Mario’s voice, as he always did, encouraging and exhorting, which served to improve his mood.  He was down but not out.  Beaten and bruised, but not broken.  The salty masses tried to bring him down with this nerf, but they failed.  Maybe the nerf on his down throw was for the best.  If he clocked in enough hours here—with Sandbags or with sparring partners—he’d tailor a strategy better than the previous one.  One thing was for sure, his big brother, his friends, and all of his friends still had his back, and no red bullet point on a piece of paper was gonna take _that_ away!

              Good times ahead, indeed.

**The End**


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